


Her Rose Adagio

by ArwenLalaith



Series: In the Rose Bower [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 35
Words: 36,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26636725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLalaith/pseuds/ArwenLalaith
Summary: December, 2007. There's a fleeting moment - just one - where life seems to stand still.  The way a dancer seems to float momentarily as she jetes across the stage.  And in that moment, Emily allows herself to fall for the first time.  To fall so hard that she forgets what solid ground feels like.
Relationships: Emily Prentiss/Original Female Character(s)
Series: In the Rose Bower [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937848
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: So, this is my first OC fic. And, yes, it is entirely self-indulgent, but I'm posting it anyway because you can't stop me. That is all.

Emily flopped back on an ornate over-stuffed sofa with a heavy sigh. She glanced down at her watch and frowned, realizing barely fifteen minutes had passed. Staring sullenly ahead, she let the inane chatter and soft orchestral music fade into white noise as she seriously considered faking a heart attack if it would get her out of there.

She'd been forced to go to a lot of boring galas in her time, but this was quite possibly the dullest of them all...

Her mother was a respected booster of the Washington Ballet Company and every year the Company threw a Christmas party to thank the boosters. And every year, her mother insisted Emily join her – unluckily for her, this was the first year she hadn't had a case preventing her from attending. She wasn't one to wish death on someone, but she could really use a serial killer right about now...

She'd just barely escaped from a long conversation on the finer points of the differences between Balanchine Method and Vaganova Method with the Company's Artistic Director. While potentially an interesting subject, the man's voice had nearly put her to sleep and his thick Russian accent meant she'd only picked up on every third word, but had been too diplomatic to extricate herself from his verbal tendrils unscathed.

She was debating the best way to escape the party early without tarnishing her mother's reputation when someone plopped down on the couch next to her and pressed a glass of champagne into her hands.

When she made no move to take the glass, her new companion nodded towards the drink and said conspiratorially, "You look like you could use it..."

Emily had to agree, finally taking the glass and tipping back a large swallow, letting the liquid bubble all the way down her throat. "Thanks," she murmured, "I needed that."

Red painted lips turned up in a smile at her words, her companion nodding knowingly. "I saw you get trapped talking to the Artistic Director... I'm probably not supposed to say this, since he's my boss, but what a _bore_."

"You're a dancer?" Emily said, then immediately cursed herself for sounding so stupid.

The woman smiled softly and winked, but made no move to introduce herself.

Emily studied her for a moment, trying to place her among the cast of The Nutcracker performance she'd watched earlier.

Emily opened her mouth to guess what role she'd danced that evening, when she wrapped her fingers around Emily's wrist and tugged gently. "Let's get out of here," she whispered, a mischievous smile playing across her lips. She glanced about quickly, checking that no one was paying attention to them.

"What?" Emily asked, dumbfounded by the sudden suggestion.

"Come on," she urged, standing suddenly and pulling Emily to her feet along with her.

Emily was about to protest before deciding that anything was better than schmoozing with one more self-important balletomane and readily nodded her agreement.

The woman lead her away from the crowded lobby and into the deserted back hallways of the theatre until they were in the wings, looking out onto the massive stage.

While Emily stood there, stunned, the woman flipped through her phone until strains of music floated tinnily from the speaker. Then, she kicked off her red satin heels and landed an elegant jeté before pirouetting across the stage, her black and gold dress floating up around her thighs. Posing in B-plus, she glanced over her shoulder at Emily, who still stood frozen as if suddenly feeling like an intruder.

Gesturing Emily to join her, she called back, "Get out here..."

Throwing caution to the wind, Emily slipped off her own heels and padded reverently across the sprung floor to join her at centre stage.

"I think I wore that exact expression, my first time on this stage," she said, smiling softly at Emily's awestruck expression as she took in the sheer magnitude of the empty theatre. "Did you ever dance?"

"My mother made me take classes when we lived in Russia, but I wouldn't exactly describe myself as graceful," she said. "Like, trip over my own feet graceless."

The woman laughed, then narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, as if assessing her. "You look pretty graceful to me..." she judged. And without warning, she grabbed Emily's hand and spun her into her arms, waltzing them together across the stage.

Emily shrieked in surprise, the sound turning into laughter as they moved across the stage, haphazardly, but not altogether uncoordinated.

"See, you're a natural! Practically a ballerina." Her blue eyes sparkled with mirth as Emily blushed.

"You're a liar," Emily accused playfully, trying not to give in to the grin threatening to break out. "But I'll forgive you." She stumbled a little, but managed to keep up with the woman's quick delicate steps.

"You're too kind," the woman teased, drinking in the look of pure joy on Emily's face.

One song gave way to another, and she made no move to release Emily from their dance and Emily certainly wasn't about to complain about being wrapped up in the arms of a beautiful woman. In fact, she would have been entirely happy to stay there for the rest of the night.

That wasn't what happened, though.

As the two danced, Emily's heart started fluttering as the other woman leaned towards her, as if for a kiss. Instead, she leaned in close to her ear and whispered, "Isn't that your mother?"

"What?" Emily said, dumbstruck, having expected literally anything else to cross her lips. Following the woman's gaze towards the centre aisle, Emily spotted Elizabeth standing there impatiently and hissed, "Shit! I have to go." Silently, she cursed her mother for having the impeccable timing that allowed her to ruin any fleeting moment of happiness she had.

The woman's face fell, but she quickly covered it with a smile that showed too many teeth to be entirely genuine. "Thanks for providing me a distraction," she said, squeezing Emily's hand. "This is the most fun I've had at one of these parties."

* * *

Elizabeth had peppered Emily with questions as she shrugged on her wool coat – Who was that woman? What were you doing? Do you know how impolite it was to leave the party? Do you know how embarrassed I was?

But Emily was still floating too high to be brought down by her mother's guilt trip.

She was about to get into the waiting town car when she heard a shout from the theatre steps. Turning back, she saw her mystery woman coming towards her as fast as her heels on icy steps allowed.

Her mother made a noise of impatience from inside the car, but Emily was well-versed in ignoring her mother and her eternal dissatisfaction with her daughter.

The woman skidded to a stop before Emily, panting a little from having chased her down. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but stumbled on the words, suddenly inexplicably shy. Her gaze flicked down momentarily, then back up to meet Emily's quizzical gaze.

Without a word, the woman pressed a pair of signed pointe shoes into her hands with a significant look, then gently pressed a kiss to her cheek before turning back towards the theatre and the waiting boredom of the still-going party.

As the town car drove off, Emily touched her fingertips to the spot her lips had touched, feeling the warmth of her pinked skin.

It wasn't until later that night as she was deciding on a spot to display the pointe shoes where she'd always be able to see the reminder of the mystery woman that she realized that she had written her phone number on the scuffed soles.


	2. Chapter 2

When Emily had agreed to meet JJ and Garcia for coffee the morning after the Christmas party, she'd fully expected to be interrogated – Garcia had recently become convinced that Emily needed to get laid and had made it her mission in life to never miss an opportunity to enquire about her love life.

Nonetheless, it was a little jarring when Garcia sat down, grinning like the cat that got the cream, and immediately studied her as if she'd be able to tell just by looking whether she'd had sex the night before. "So..." She waggled her brows, then stared at Emily expectantly, awaiting a full and detailed report of her evening. "Did you meet any cute guys?"

Even though she'd been expecting it, Emily sighed, making no attempt to hide the way she rolled her eyes. "Really?"

"What?" Garcia asked, shrugging as if the matter were out of her control. "I've seen pictures of those male dancers and let me tell you... I may only have eyes for my Chocolate Thunder, but some of those guys have twenty-four packs. They put even Derek Morgan to shame."

"Pen..." JJ scolded her lightly, elbowing her in the ribs. Turning to Emily with an apologetic smile, she said, "What she means is, did you have a good time?"

"She knows what I meant," Garcia said, pouting and rubbing her side where JJ had jabbed her.

"It was a surprisingly lovely evening," Emily said primly. "The ballet was beautiful, the party was a little dull, though."

"And?" Garcia pressed, refusing to accept that that was the end of the story. "Juicy details please!"

"Well," Emily said with a shrug, giving in to her pleading. "I didn't exactly meet any _guys_..." She pulled the pair of pointe shoes out of her bag and set them on the table, waiting for one of her friends to catch on.

Brow raised, Garcia snatched up the shoes to examine them, immediately finding the phone number on the sole and gasping dramatically. "Oh. My. God. You got a phone number!? Whose?" she demanded.

"Well... I didn't exactly get her name," Emily admitted, feeling entirely ridiculous.

"This is just like Cinderella!" Garcia exclaimed, clapping her hands together and looking as if she might burst with excitement, "Shoes and all!"

"Tell us _exactly_ what happened," JJ insisted, just as interested as Garcia, if not more, but trying not to overwhelm her usually very private friend.

"She was at the party the Company throws for the boosters. She asked if I wanted to get out of there..." She tried not to look too dreamy over the memory, but was sure she wore a goofy grin in spite of her efforts. It had been a _very_ long time since someone had so thoroughly swept her off her feet and it was hard not to get caught up in the whirlwind romance of it all.

Garcia interrupted with a squeal and a lascivious smirk.

"Not like that," Emily scolded. "It was a boring party, she wanted to have some fun." That didn't sound any better. "She took me backstage and we danced together... She made me laugh. It was sweet. Then, my mother interrupted..."

"That's it?" JJ asked, seeming disappointed.

"Then, just as we were about to drive off, she ran after me to give me the shoes...and her number." Emily made a dismissive gesture as if it were no big deal.

"I have to admit," JJ said, "It does sound like you're living out a real life Cinderella story...and you're Prince Charming."

"Did you call her and ask her out yet?" Garcia asked, eager for more details.

"No," Emily admitted. "I don't even know her name or if she's gay – maybe she just wanted to hang out as friends and..."

Garcia wasn't going to let her off that easily, though. With a quick Google search of the signature, she proudly showed them her phone screen. "I give you your princess, one Lucy Mills," she declared dramatically. Sure enough, her screen showed a picture of the woman she'd danced with.

"Oh, Em, she's gorgeous," JJ declared, Garcia nodding along in agreement. "If you don't call her, I will," she teased.

"Call her," Garcia demanded. "Call her now."

"But..." Emily started to protest.

"No way, you are not chickening out of this," Garcia declared. She snatched up Emily's phone and started dialling the number on the shoe before she could protest.

Emily grabbed her phone back just as it started to ring. Before she could hang up and pretend this hadn't happened, someone picked up on the other end.

"Umm, hi..." Emily stammered, heart pounding. "This is – this is Emily Prentiss, from last night..."

"I was hoping you'd call," Lucy said, her smile audible even over the phone. "I wasn't sure if you were interested or anything, but I thought I'd take the chance anyway."

Emily struggled for what to say next when Garcia passed over a napkin on which she'd scrawled, 'Ice skating. Tomorrow night. 7:00.' Emily shook her head insistently, but Garcia kept tapping the napkin, glaring at her until she blurted out, "Did you want to go out tomorrow night? Ice skating at the Watergate Hotel?"

For the briefest moment, there was a pause, so Emily rushed to fill it with nervous rambling, "I know the Ballet is on break for the holidays and my team is off rotation, so..."

Lucy interrupted her rambling, "I'd love to."

"Really?" Emily asked, stunned.

"Of course. I gave you my number for a reason," Lucy said with a laugh.

"Right," Emily said, internally cursing herself for sounding so dumb. "I'll pick you up at seven?"

"I can't wait."

When Emily hung up, Garcia and JJ were both staring at her. "What?"

"I'm sorry, sweetie," Garcia said, shaking her head, "But you do not have game."

JJ nodded in agreement. "That was painful to watch."

"Shut up. I got the date..." Emily countered. But even their teasing couldn't stop the way her heart fluttered in her chest.


	3. Chapter 3

_Six Years Later_

Blinking sleep out of her eyes, Emily glanced at the alarm clock beside the bed, then down at her phone screen flashing with a text from JJ. She yawned, groaned, as she rolled out of bed to ready herself for what was sure to be a long day ahead.

A muffled whine of protest came from the bed beside her and an arm emerged from the cocoon of blankets, batting her now empty side of the bed, searching for her.

Emily couldn't help the little laugh that bubbled up as a sleepy face appeared wearing a petulant pout. "Good morning, sleepyhead," she murmured.

The ensuing grunt meant it most certainly _wasn't_ a good morning. "Come back to bed..." her wife's voice begged.

"You know I can't do that," Emily replied, smiling lovingly down at her.

"Just five more minutes," Lucy pleaded, batting blue eyes up at her.

"If I give you five minutes, you'll want ten," Emily pointed out. (She'd fallen for that one too many times already.) But to soften the blow, she leaned down to kiss her wife in apology.

"I could make them ten _really good_ minutes," Lucy wheedled, wicked smile playing about her pink lips.

"As much as I'd love that...whenever I give in to you, you make me really late," Emily said. "And everyone can figure out why. It's hard enough to look them in the eyes after Reid saw us making out like teenagers in the car that one time."

"That one was _your_ fault," Lucy replied, perhaps a little too smugly.

Emily rolled her eyes, but she did so fondly. "Regardless, I'm not getting back into bed with you."

" _Fine_ ," Lucy groaned dramatically. She rolled out of bed, taking the duvet with her, wrapping it around her shoulders for warmth, given she wore only a thin nightgown underneath. "But you owe me."

Emily laughed, shook her head. "I promise to climb into bed with you as soon as I get home."

"You'll come to bed or you'll _come to bed_?" Lucy asked with a little smirk.

"How you think you'll have any energy left over after dancing _Sleeping Beauty_ , I have no idea..."

"I always have energy for you," Lucy said with sweetness in her voice and mischief in her eyes.

"You're incorrigible," Emily insisted.

Lucy shrugged as if the matter were out of her hands. She wandered into the en suite bathroom to work on taming her mane of red curls. "Do you think you'll be home in time to come see the performance?" she called into the bedroom.

"I'll do my best to be there," Emily vowed, approaching behind her and wrapping her – quilt and all – into an embrace and dropping a kiss beside her ear.

* * *

" _Am I in danger?" she'd asked, struggling to keep her voice from trembling in the face of her greatest fear being realized._

" _We all are," Sean had replied gravely. His eyes had had a sheen of great weariness to them – a weariness she'd later realize was borne of a lifetime of looking over his shoulder._

The echoes of those words were racing through Emily's head as she frantically paced the apartment, chewing her nails, barely able to breathe for the fear wrapped around her lungs like a python.

Eight years ago, when she'd first gone under with Doyle, her life had meant nothing to her – live or die, she didn't care either way. It had made her the perfect fit for the assignment. When they'd put him away, little by little, she'd locked his memory away in little boxes at the back of her mind and moved on.

And now...she had everything to live for and she was starting to realize how very easily it could all be taken from her and it scared her to death.

She was so wrapped up in her panicked machinations, she almost didn't hear the sound of the door opening and clicking shut. "Em, I'm home," Lucy's voice sing-songed from the doorway. "Em?" she repeated catching sight of her frozen in the middle of the living room looking like she'd seen a ghost. "Are you okay?"

Emily shook herself out of her trance. "Fine," she replied. Then, more insistently, "I'm fine."

Lucy raised a brow. "Are you sure?" she asked, taking Emily's ice cold hands in hers, kissing her knuckles softly. "You're shaking..."

Emily offered a smile, but it was entirely too tight and she knew Lucy saw right through it. "Just a long case," she lied. As soon as the words left her lips, she felt the burn of guilt in her stomach, but she just couldn't burden Lucy with the truth, not yet, not when she didn't know how to protect her.

Lucy nodded, but it was clear from her eyes she was still concerned. "Did you just get home? You look exhausted."

She nodded, lying again. "I had paperwork to finish up," she said. "I'm sorry I missed the ballet. I really wanted to come."

Lucy tucked an errant lock of Emily's raven hair behind her ear. "It wasn't the first time we put on _Sleeping Beauty_ and it definitely won't be the last," she reassured. "Besides, your job is a little bit more important than my professional frolicking."

Emily attempted a laugh. "You bring joy to the world," she replied seriously. "That's important. I see far too much grief to think what you do doesn't matter."

Leaning in for a kiss, Lucy smiled softly. "You're entirely too sweet for your own good. Now, I think it's time to get you into bed." Emily made a little noise of protest, but Lucy shook her head before she could form words. "Don't worry, I meant that innocently. You look far too weary for me to try anything tonight."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know I promised you..."

Lucy shook her head. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I've got you for the rest of my life, I think I can sacrifice one night of sex for that."

"I don't deserve you," Emily murmured, looking at her wife almost sadly. What she meant, though, was, _'You shouldn't have to die for my mistakes...'_


	4. Chapter 4

The scent of coffee and sizzling batter woke Emily from her admittedly eggshell fragile sleep. She opened one eye to investigate, finding herself slumped over in a chair in the middle of the room, gun still clutched in her hand like a security blanket, memories of the night before rushing back and she winced, knowing Lucy was going to have questions she couldn't reasonably answer.

She'd lain awake beside her wife for hours, thoughts of the safe containing classified documents and her buried past plaguing her attempts to sleep – even the sound of her wife's soft breathing and her arm wrapped around her hips failed to soothe her the way it usually did. The phone call had been the last straw; she'd never be able to fall asleep with the knowledge that he knew entirely too much about their lives churning her stomach with fear she ordinarily didn't allow herself to feel.

Groaning softly, she rolled out the kinks in her neck, knowing she was facing a day of stiffness and sore muscles, thanks to the uncomfortable sleeping position.

"Good morning, beautiful," Lucy sing-songed, catching sight of her movement. She padded into view, smiling fondly down at her wife, before leaning down to kiss her. She then handed her a cup of coffee that Emily eagerly accepted, immediately taking a greedy sip. "Rough night?" Lucy asked, one brow raised as she gulped down the scalding liquid.

Instead of answering, Emily looked her wife up and down, mouth hanging open slightly. "Are you wearing anything under that apron?" she asked at length.

Lucy glanced down at her apron as if it had only just occurred to her that she wasn't wearing anything else. She shrugged, offered Emily an innocent smile. "That a problem?"

"I wasn't complaining..." she insisted, holding her hands up in surrender.

Lucy just winked at her. "I made you breakfast," she called over her shoulder, returning to the kitchen.

"You didn't have to do that," Emily replied, standing, stretching out her stiff back and regretting the choice to spend the night in that chair. (For more than one reason, not least of which was that Lucy was apparently feeling frisky...)

"I know," Lucy said, plating French toast for the both of them. "I happen to like cooking for my wife," she added, kissing Emily's cheek as she moved past with plates in hand.

Emily shook her head, smiling fondly, that warmth that came from being so loved spreading through her chest. "How did I get so lucky?" she wondered aloud as she settled at the table. Her stomach growled loudly and she suddenly realized that she was starving after not eating dinner the night before.

Lucy laughed. "I ask myself that every single day." For a few moments, she watched Emily eat, before asking the question that was obviously plaguing her. "Why didn't you come to bed last night?"

"Hmm?" She'd heard the question, she was just trying to buy time to think of an answer that wouldn't terrify her wife because she obviously couldn't tell her the real reason...

"You spent all night in that chair," Lucy prompted. "With your gun, I might add... Is something going on I should know about?"

Emily sighed shakily and, for a brief moment, debated telling her the truth. But the moment passed quickly – she didn't want to scare her, for her to have to live in fear, looking over her shoulder every moment. This was her battle to fight, she wasn't going to drag Lucy into it as well. "Just feeling a little paranoid," she replied with a shrug and an attempt at an apologetic smile.

For several moments, Lucy watched her, chewing on her lip (a sure sign that she was debating whether she believed her). Eventually, she sighed. "You'd tell me if something were wrong, right?" she prompted. She looked at her with such softness in her eyes, such concern that it very nearly broke Emily.

"Of course," Emily replied immediately, swallowing down the barbs of truth that sat on her tongue, threatening to spill out. "You're my wife..."

Lucy reached over to rest a hand on top of Emily's. "I know you have a hard time trusting people, letting them in all the way because you're afraid of getting hurt... But I'm here for better, for worse. I'm not about to go anywhere, no matter what happens. Whatever is scaring you, you can share with me."

Emily leaned over to kiss her wife softly, thanking any God that was listening for giving her Lucy. "I know," she murmured when she pulled away. "But I promise, this was just a little paranoid vigilance." She felt the burn of guilt over lying to her wife deep in her gut, but swallowed past it to offer a faint smile.

Lucy watched her for a moment longer, then nodded slowly and if Emily didn't know her quite as well as she did, she might have missed the flash of residual concern that lingered in her eyes. "Okay." She pushed her food about her plate briefly. "I just hate sleeping without you," she added, with a cute little pout.

Emily finally broke into a laugh. "You cocoon yourself in _all_ the blankets literally every night I'm home until I almost freeze to death," she pointed out, "And your feet are always ice cold and they're _always_ pressed against my legs!"

"I know," Lucy said, "I miss having someone warm to defrost my popsicle toes when you're gone. Why do you think I married you?"

Emily rolled her eyes playfully, unable to help the laughter that bubbled up. "Well, little miss popsicle toes... I have to get ready for work and I need a hot shower to work out all the kinks in my back."

Lucy perked up. "I could make it a hot shower..." she offered, smirking mischievously.

For a moment, Emily debated, knowing it would end up making her late, but it was nearly impossible to resist Lucy when she had that hopeful smile (and when she was wearing so little...). Eventually she conceded, tugging at the ribbon that held her apron tied together. Afterall, the traitorous little voice at the back of her mind reminded, she didn't know when she'd have the chance to make love to her wife again...


	5. Chapter 5

"Derek, because I like you, I'm going to ask you not to do this..." she begged. "Please."

That simply wasn't in his nature, though. "Everything okay at home?" he pressed.

"Everything's perfect." That, at least, wasn't a lie. A small smile graced her lips.

Her grin didn't go unnoticed. "That good, huh?" he teased. "That why you were running late this morning?" He waggled his brows, laughed.

She narrowed her eyes. "You'd better not be imagining my wife naked right now..."

He didn't respond, merely smirking.

* * *

Emily smiled softly to herself when she caught sight of the florist's box outside the apartment door. Lucy was always getting flowers – when she had a particularly successful public appearance, her agent would send her a bouquet. Granted, they usually came to her dressing room, but it wasn't unheard of them to arrive at their door.

When she'd been promoted to principal dancer, their apartment had looked like a florist's for weeks. And while she couldn't think of a particular reason she might be getting flowers now, she still felt a little surge of pride for her wife.

At least, she did until she realized there were no post-marks on the box, no delivery notice pinned to the door, no florist's logo. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise in suspicion. Her first thought was that Lucy had a stalker...she'd been working for the BAU long enough to know that Lucy would be an easy target for a stalker with her routine and frequent contact with the public, not to mention the fact that she was too sweet for her own good – she'd often seen her stop to talk to fans after a performance.

It didn't even occur to her that this had nothing at all to do with her wife until the tissue paper fell away...

* * *

Emily sat in the high stool in front of the lighted mirror that took up most of one wall of Lucy's dressing room, anxiously chewing her thumb nail while she tried to decide on the best lie that would explain the sudden need to stay as far from their apartment as possible. She knew Lucy trusted her explicitly, so she wouldn't doubt what she'd told her, but that didn't make lying to her wife any easier, even if it was to keep her safe.

There was laughter from the hallways leading to the stage, then the dressing room door groaning on hinges warped from repeatedly slamming shut on toe boxes. "Em?" Lucy asked as she bounced into the dressing room, surprised to find her wife there. She immediately swept her up into an embrace "What are you doing here?" she asked when she released her.

"There was a flood at the apartment," she lied with practiced ease. "A pipe burst."

Lucy frowned. "Shit. Is Sergio okay?"

Emily couldn't help but laugh a little that the cat was her primary concern (even if it was a rather nervous laugh). "He's fine. I rescued him from the water – he's in my car, probably scratching my leather seats to shreds."

She laughed as she lightly hip-checked Emily out of the way of the mirror and worked on unpinning her headpiece. She paused suddenly, brow furrowing suspiciously. "Did you... _clean_ my dressing table?" she asked, almost affronted.

"First of all," Emily said, holding her hands up in defense, "It was a disaster area. Second, I had a lot of time to kill. And third, you have more make up than I even knew existed."

"But I knew where everything was..." Lucy whined, "It was an _organized_ disaster." She sighed dramatically. "You're lucky I love you so much." She turned back to removing the dozens of bobby pins from her hair. "Where are we staying while they repair the damage?" she asked, then frowned. "And please don't say with Morgan – last time I was there, his dog _ate_ a perfectly broken pair of pointe shoes..."

It was Emily's turn to laugh. "Hey, I warned you that dog is like a garbage disposal..." She shook her head fondly. "We'll stay in a hotel. But first I'm going to drop Serg with Garcia. He'll be happier at her place being spoiled rotten."

"When we have kids, they're going to like her better than they like us..." Lucy muttered as she scrubbed her face with a make up wipe. The last time they'd left Sergio with Garcia, the cat had gained at least ten pounds and they'd had to put him on a special kitty diet.

For a brief moment, Emily allowed herself to smile at the image of having a family with Lucy, but the moment was short-lived, Ian Doyle's ghost breathing down her neck, reminding her that she'd be lucky to survive long enough to see that day. She couldn't say that out loud, of course, the knowledge settling silently in her chest like a stone.

"Em? You in there?" Lucy asked, head cocked to one side as she stared at her, concern shining in her eyes.

Emily shook herself back to the present moment, realizing she'd missed part of the conversation. "Sorry," she said, offering an apologetic smile. "I guess I'm just tired."

"You need a day off," Lucy insisted. "You're going to work yourself to death."

Those words hit her square in the chest and for a moment, she couldn't quite breathe.

Lucy continued on as if she hadn't noticed. "You should take some holidays when the Company goes on break. We could travel somewhere and, you know, be a regular couple for awhile." She winked to show she was only teasing – but it was true, between both of their jobs, they only very rarely got time to spend together before one of them had to rush off to work.

Emily nodded slowly, distantly. "Yeah. That would be really nice." The smile she offered was tight and half-hearted.

Lucy chalked it up to exhaustion, though, resting a hand on Emily's cheek and pulling her in for a gentle kiss. "One day," she promised.

"One day," Emily whispered in agreement, though she wasn't entirely sure she believed that day would ever come.


	6. Chapter 6

Emily couldn't sleep – not with the all-consuming fear that came from knowing Doyle was out there, watching, waiting... Late into the night, she sat curled up against the headboard, watching Lucy sleep with a peacefulness she envied.

"What are you still doing awake?" Lucy whispered, opening one eye to look at her wife.

Emily smiled faintly in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. "You should be sleeping," she murmured back, fingers softly grazing her cheek.

"So should you," Lucy replied. She yawned, pushed herself to sit up. "What's bothering you?"

For a moment, Emily said nothing as she reached over to fix Lucy's sleep-mussed hair. "Do you ever worry?" she asked softly. "About me? About my past?"

"What about it?" Lucy prompted. She reached over, tangled her fingers with Emily's. Her smile was soft, sleepy.

She opened her mouth to respond, but in that moment as she stared at into her wife's tender gaze, she stopped, words catching in her throat. She couldn't do it, couldn't frighten her like that. She shook her head. "Nevermind."

Lucy looked at her wife in silence for a few moments, reading so much more from her expression than Emily could have realized. At length, she uttered one word: "No."

Emily raised a brow. "No what?"

"I don't worry. I never have. I knew who you were when I married you and it's never once given me pause," Lucy insisted.

Guilt roiled in Emily's stomach, knowing that wasn't entirely true. Lucy knew a carefully sanitized version of her past – the things she didn't need to be afraid of... "Maybe you should," she said, voice barely there at all.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Lucy asked, brow creased with concern. "You seem...sad."

"I just never want to have to be without you. I know the kind of people there are out there and I just...I worry." She blinked back a few tears that had slipped out in spite of herself, offered a tremulous smile.

Lucy reached up, wiped away the tears on Emily's cheeks. Emily wrapped her hand around her wife's, kissed her palm, her wrist, lips travelling up her arm.

"You don't need to worry about me," Lucy whispered, eyes falling shut at the tenderness contained in those kisses.

"You're my wife," Emily replied simply, lips against her skin.

Lucy wrapped an arm around Emily's hips, pulling her down to the bed, rolling them so she was straddling her hips. Emily gasped sharply as her back hit the mattress. Lucy's mischievous grin left little doubt as to what she was thinking in that moment.

Emily reached up to cup her cheek. "You know I love you, right?" she murmured.

"I do," she agreed, tilted her head to kiss Emily's palm. She softened her smile to show she was serious. "I could prove it to you, if you want..."

Emily mirrored her soft smile for a moment, then murmured, "Make love to me."

"Gladly." She captured Emily's lips in a searing kiss, one hand palming her breast through her tank top, thumb grazing her nipple making her gasp.

Her hips bucked up against Lucy's at the stimulation. Her hands travelled up Lucy's thighs, under her nightgown, closer and closer to her core, until Lucy wrapped her fingers around her wrists. "This is about you," she scolded. "I want to make you feel good." She leaned in to press a kiss to Emily's shoulder, lips trailing along her collar bone.

"I want you," Emily husked, head tilting back as Lucy's lips left a heated trail along her skin.

"You'll have me," Lucy replied, smirk audible in her voice. She caught her lips in searing kiss, catching the moan that bubbled up Emily's throat as she ghosted her knuckles over her core through her panties.

"I love you," Emily managed to whisper as Lucy broke the kiss so she could pull the tank top over Emily's head.

"I love you too," Lucy replied, smiling softly, pausing in her ministrations to stroke soft fingers along Emily's jaw. She broke the tender moment, though, by dipping her head and catching one of Emily's exposed nipples between her teeth.

Emily let out a small strangled gasp as Lucy nipped and suckled, laving attention on her breast before switching to the other, treating it to the same attention. Her back arched sharply, one hand going to the back of Lucy's head, tangling in her crimson locks.

Lucy trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down her torso, fingers hooking the waistband of her panties and trailing them down her legs, exposing her soaked core. Her fingers danced along Emily's thighs, wandering closer and closer to where she wanted her most, but never quite giving her what she wanted.

"Please, baby..." she murmured, squirming beneath her wife.

Lucy pressed kisses along the ridge of her hips, inhaling deeply the scent of her as she spread her thighs apart. Her folds were slick with arousal and Lucy dragged her fingers through the wetness teasingly.

"Lucy..." Emily whined. "Please..." Her begging was cut short by a relieved moan as she licked up her slit, dragging her tongue through her folds.

Lucy's hand found Emily's where it was desperately grasping a handful of the sheets and wound their fingers together, grounding her wife as she lapped at her clit, sucking it into her mouth. Emily thrust her hips forward, Lucy's name falling from her lips in a moan.

"Yes, baby," Lucy cooed. "Tell me what you want..."

"More, please," she panted, "Fuck, Lucy..."

Lucy obliged, pushing two fingers inside her, pumping them slowly in and out at just the right angle to make Emily writhe. She could tell Emily was on the verge of orgasm by the way her moans became strangled, by the clenching of her pussy around her fingers, and as her orgasm wracked her, she drew it out with soft kisses and licks, thumb flicking across her clit teasingly.

Lucy kissed her way back up her wife's body, curling into her side as she came down from her high. Emily nuzzled into her wife's chest, still breathing heavily.

"I missed you," she breathed.

"You were only gone a few days..." Lucy pointed out.

"I know," she replied, voice so soft as if she were afraid of shattering the moment. "I just... It's getting harder and harder to be away from you."

If only she'd known...


	7. Chapter 7

When Emily woke up, Lucy's side of the bed was empty – the sheets rumpled, the cover kicked down to the foot of the bed. "Lucy?" she called out, panic settling in her chest. "Lucy?"

The door rattled, creaked open, sending adrenaline coursing through her veins, and she grabbed her gun, ready to shoot whoever came through the door between the eyes.

"Babe?" Lucy called out, manoeuvring the door open with both her hands full. She caught sight of Emily, gun trained on her, stopped suddenly. "Em?" she said softly. When her voice failed to produce a reaction, she repeated louder, "Em! What's wrong?"

"Lucy, you scared me," she said, the hardened expression on her face melting as she lowered the gun. "You weren't here when I woke up..."

"I went out to grab some breakfast," Lucy said slowly, one brow rising in concern. "Em, you are crazy on edge lately. Are you going to tell me what's going on with you?"

"There's nothing..." she started to lie.

Lucy set down the tray of coffee and muffins so she could reach for Emily's hands. "Be honest with me; I'm your _wife_ ," she pleaded.

Lucy's eyes were so sad, so imploring in that moment that Emily nearly broke down then and there. She just couldn't do it, though, couldn't tell her the truth. "I can't," she whispered, eyes falling shut, ashamed.

"Em, please..." Lucy begged.

"I wish I could. But you're just going to have to trust me on this." She squeezed Lucy's hands, offered an apologetic smile.

"I _do_ trust you," Lucy murmured. "I just wish you trusted me the same."

Emily's smile fell. "One day, I promise you'll understand why it had to be this way."

* * *

"I knew you were watching me," Emily said as a hand landed on her shoulder, startling her slightly, though she refused to let it show.

"What's the expression?" a deep voice asked from behind her before its owner moved into her view, taking the seat across from her. "Keep your friends close, your enemies under surveillance."

"I've been here two hours. You should know better than to keep a lady waiting." She sipped from the coffee that had long since gone cold, simply for something to do with her hands that wouldn't betray the nerves boiling in the pit of her stomach.

"Seems hypocritical, seeing as I had to wait seven years," he pointed out with a quirked brow. He eyed the second cup of coffee that she'd left waiting for him as if he suspected it might be poisoned, but eventually took a sip from it anyway.

"Hello, Ian."

"Hello, Lauren... Oh, wait, Lauren Reynolds died in a car accident, didn't she?" His tone was conversational, but the words any were anything but.

"What do you want?" she asked, dispensing with niceties.

"You..." he said simply, watching her expression. "Oh, not today, don't worry about that. But soon."

"I've got a glock levelled at your crotch...what's to stop me from taking out you and the little ones right now?" Her eyes were filled with that deadly calm, deadly seriousness, as she cocked the gun hidden under the table.

"You'd never make it back to your car and you know it. Tell me...does the lovely Lucy know the truth about you? Or is she too busy with her dancing to care?" he asked, as if they were making pleasant conversation. "She's quite talented, that one. Beautiful too. It must be almost your third anniversary? You always said you weren't the marrying type, but I suppose I truly was all wrong for you..."

"Come near her and I will end you," she growled, suddenly filled with an icy fear over how much he knew, how long he'd been watching them.

"I don't have a quarrel with her. How long that remains the case, depends entirely on you. She's innocent, you're not."

"I was doing my job," she said breathlessly, refusing to let the fear show, even though it was choking her.

"Oh, I think you did. You took the only thing that mattered to me...so I'm going to take the only thing that matters to you: your wife." He pressed a worn golden matchbook onto the table and stood. He recited a quote about providence, but she was barely listening, staring with unseeing eyes at the matchbook from the bar where it had all started. "Tell me, Emily Prentiss, which do you think you're going to be?" he asked, with a knowing smile quirking one side of his lips.

* * *

Emily called Lucy in a panic.

"Hey!" Lucy answered brightly and Emily could hear the smile in her voice. "I'm just in the middle of..."

"Are you at the theatre?" she interrupted, trying not to let her voice tremble. She hated being short with her wife, hated cutting off her excited chatter about what she loved, but there was no time.

"Yeah," she said, "I'm getting ready for the second act, so I don't have a lot of time to..."

"I need you to stay at the theatre," Emily said urgently.

"What? Em, what are you..." The confusion was audible in her voice.

"After the ballet, I need you to stay at the theatre," she repeated.

"Em, I can't," Lucy replied, her voice getting far away as she pulled on her costume. "I've got that gala fundraiser thing afterwards."

"Lucy, this is important," Emily insisted. "You'll just have to skip it. I'm coming to get you and we'll..."

"I can't just _skip it_ ," Lucy argued, her turn to interrupt, "I have to be there – I'm supposed to give a speech and this charity is really important to the higher ups at the Company. I could lose my job if I don't show up."

"Lucy, I don't have time to argue with you about this – I'm already on my way and I..."

"Good," Lucy retorted. "Because it's not up for debate. I've dealt with all the shit your job comes with, this is my non-negotiable. My career is every bit as important as yours, even if you don't think so."

"I never said that!" Emily insisted. She paused, took a deep calming breath, tried again more gently, "This isn't about that, this is about _you_ and..."

"I've got to go," Lucy interrupted once more. "It's four minutes 'til my cue and I still need to sew into my shoes. Bye, Em."


	8. Chapter 8

"Doyle has Lucy," Emily said into the phone. She stood before the lighted mirror in Lucy's dressing room, gaze fixed on a picture of Lucy the day she'd been promoted to Principal, in her _Cinderella_ costume, bouquet of roses in her arm, face split by a brilliant smile. The longer she stared at that picture, the harder it was to breathe, chest filling with the knowledge that she might never see that smile again.

"What?" Clyde asked, not quite disbelieving but skeptical all the same. "Are you sure?"

"I'm in her dressing room and she's not here. She's not at the fundraiser gala, her car is still here, and no one has seen her since she came off stage," she listed. "I spoke to her a half hour ago and she was fine."

"Are you sure she didn't just..." Clyde started to ask.

She cut him off impatiently, "Doyle as much as told me he has her."

"What do you mean he _told_ you?" Tsia asked incredulously, voice tinny and distorted in the background of the conversation.

"I sat across from him and looked him in the eye as he told me that he was going to take her from me."

Voice clearer now that Clyde had put the phone on speaker, Tsia pressed, "Why didn't he just kill you?"

"He wants to watch me suffer the way he did," she said without hesitation. She didn't need to question his motives, she knew him well enough to understand that hurting Lucy would hurt her more than anything he could physically do to her. "I think it's time to involve my team."

The pause that followed was filled with hesitation before Clyde finally spoke up, "Are you absolutely certain that's the best..."

"I don't care about protocol, I don't care about clearance, all I care about is my wife," she snapped, interrupting what was sure to be a long-winded spiel. "They can help."

Clyde heaved a weary sigh. "Em, when you went undercover, I promised no harm would come to you..."

"Well, it's not about me anymore," she replied. She carefully plucked the photo from where it was stuck to the mirror, slipping it into her pocket.

"What I'm saying is, let us worry about catching Doyle."

* * *

Lucy came to, bleary and confused. She slowly sat up from where she was slumped over in her seat, stomach turning with the movement, threatening to revisit her meagre stomach contents all over the black and gold jacquard of her cocktail dress. "Wh-where am I?" she rasped. "What happened?"

A man's face came into view then, looking concerned, but kind. "You were crossing the street and got hit by a car. The driver fled the scene, but we're taking you to the hospital," he explained.

She raised a hand to her forehead, fingers coming away bloody.

Before she could say anything, he assured her, "It doesn't look too bad, but you can't be too careful with head wounds." He offered her a bottle of water which she accepted with a shaky hand, not entirely sure she trusted it. "Drink," he encouraged.

Deciding that it was probably safe since the cap was still on, she took a greedy sip to soothe her parched throat. "Th-thanks," she stuttered. "What's your name?"

"Ian," he replied. "Don't worry, Lucy – everything is going to be alright."

It didn't hit her right away as she stared out the window, watching the hospital fade into view. "Wait...how did you know my name?"

His smile became less kind. "Oh, I'm a friend of your wife..." he said ominously.

Just as quickly, the hospital was fading out of view in the distance.

* * *

"Are you okay?" Garcia asked, approaching behind Emily with uncharacteristic timidness.

Emily stood suddenly from where she was bent over the sink, fighting off the urge to vomit. "Oh..." She inhaled a shuddering breath, attempting to control the threat of oncoming tears before she could see them. "Umm, yeah, I'm good," she lied, attempted a smile that was entirely too much of a grimace for her liking.

"I'm not a profiler, but..." she started.

"Don't start," Emily scoffed, shaking her head. In the laden silence that followed, the heartbroken look that crossed Garcia's face made her pause, guilt sweeping over her like a wave. She sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm..." She shook her head. "I'm gonna be alright."

"Okay," she slowly, tremulously. "I'm just really worried about you. I..." She trailed off, swallowing thickly. "The flu is going around..." A look of realization crossed her face, eyes going wide. "Are you pregs? Is Lucy?"

Emily bit down on her lip to keep the truth from spilling out. They hadn't told anyone yet, but Lucy had started fertility treatments a few weeks earlier, with the intention of trying to get pregnant after the Fall Season ended.

"No," she lied. "No, I'm just... I'm...not sleeping. I'm having this nightmare," she explained. "It's a recurring nightmare – there's a hill and there's a little girl on top of the hill, she's like six years old, dark hair, and she's just dancing in the sun. But somehow I know that she's waiting for me, so I start to walk up the hill, but the hill gets steeper and steeper and by the time I climb to the top, the little girl is gone. And I look everywhere for her and when I can't find her, I start to panic. And I panic because I know what's waiting out there for her. I know what the world can do to a girl who only sees beauty in it."

When she'd told Lucy about the dream, she'd insisted she was just anxious about the idea of becoming a mom. She wasn't entirely wrong about that, but now, Emily feared it went deeper. That she'd somehow foreseen this – she didn't really believe in psychics and foretelling the future, but the dream was so vivid, so real, that it seemed entirely too ominous to not mean _something_. And, if that were true, that meant there was no happy ending to this story...and that thought scared her more than anything.


	9. Chapter 9

"Where are you taking me?" Lucy asked, trying hard not to let her voice tremble as she watched the hospital and the promise of safety fade in the rear window.

No response.

"People are going to come looking for me!" she shouted, trying to force confidence, authority she didn't possess, "My wife is a Federal Agent!"

"Oh, we know..." Ian told her, almost matter-of-factly, an unsettling smile crossing his face. "And we're counting on her moving Heaven and Earth to save you."

The van screeched around a corner at high speed, narrowly avoiding being T-boned by oncoming traffic. While Ian shouted at the driver, Lucy used the momentary distraction to unbuckle her seatbelt and reach for the door handle, ready to fling herself out of the moving vehicle if it meant getting away from what she felt was likely certain death.

Before she could open it, though, a gun was pointed at her head, the unmistakable sound of it being cocked echoing in her ears. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Love..."

"If you're going to kill me, just do it! But just know that they're going to find you," she growled.

"There's no sense in doing that – you're worth much more to me alive." He slowly traced a finger along her jawline.

"Fuck you!" she spit, jerking away from his touch.

He grabbed a fistful of her hair, jerking her head back sharply. "You'd best mind your tongue, girl – I'm not going to kill you, but I've no compunction against making you wish I had."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be..."

* * *

"What? Are we being followed, 007?" Derek teased, watching her repeated glances out the side mirror.

The fact that he was teasing seemed to bypass her entirely. "No, but you should go through the city – 66 is going to be miserable right now."

"We'll get there."

" _Before_ Doyle takes somebody else out?" she snapped. "He's shooting up Federal Agents, what's he going to do next?" In her mind, she added, _'Kidnap my wife and likely murder her just to spite me?'_

"Well, what would you like me to do?" he demanded, perhaps shorter tempered than he normally would have been with her.

Temper flaring right back, she retorted, "Get creative with your driving..."

"I'm working on it, Prentiss."

Any further arguing they might have done was interrupted by the ringing of her phone and the quick coded conversation that followed.

She went through the motions, said all the right words, but it was killing her not to ask about Lucy, whether they'd found anything that might lead them to her. She'd trusted them with her wife's life while she was in the hands of the worst possible person, but the longer she was with him, the less likely it was she'd ever see her alive.

The urge to confess everything, to fall on her knees and beg for help, welled up inside her, then, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from falling apart then and there. If Lucy didn't survive, she wasn't sure she would either...

"They got something?" Derek asked, startling her, as if she'd only just remembered he were there.

Her gaze was distant and unfocused, lost almost. "I don't know, we'll see," she answered seemingly without realizing she was speaking.

There was silence for what seemed a long time as he watched her, studied her. "You know, Emily," he began, sighed, "You really need to trust people."

She looked up sharply. "I trust people," she argued, resenting the fact that he thought she didn't.

"No, you don't," he insisted. "You don't because you can't. And I get it – every time you try to count on someone, they let you down, so you go it alone. You'll never admit that 'cause you're just too damn stubborn." He shook his head slowly. "It's alright, it doesn't matter. But I'll tell you what does matter: that you can trust me, Emily. With anything." She seemed about to argue, but he didn't give her the chance. "I'm serious. No matter how awful you think it is, I promise you, you are not alone. I just wish you'd believe that."

Again there was silence, so long and so brittle it seemed an eternity of broken glass. Finally, in a small voice, she murmured, "I _do_." She wasn't sure either of them believed that. Then, (mostly joking) she changed the subject, "And profile me again, you'll wish you hadn't."

* * *

"Have you stopped to wonder why you're here?" Ian asked, waving his gun about airily.

"Because you're a psychopath?" she retorted with false brightness.

"Ah-ah...mustn't call names." He clicked his tongue. He slowly paced around the chair she was shackled to, pausing behind her to stroke the hair off the back of her neck. "You know, you remind me of your wife – she always did have a wicked tongue," he breathed next to her ear.

"Don't you talk about her!" Lucy growled. "You don't know anything about her!"

"Don't I?" he asked, brow raised. "I think I know her quite well, actually. Afterall, we were lovers for a year and a half."

"Wh-what?" she stammered, wary, distrustful.

"Didn't she tell you?"

"You're lying!" she shouted. "She would never do that!" She struggled against the manacles around her wrists.

"Do what? Fuck me because the government paid her to? Fall for me? Maybe even love me?"

"Shut up!" she demanded, "Just stop it!"

"Aye, she was special that one," he mused. "But you...you've got that same spark she had." He pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. "I tend to prefer brunettes, but I could make an exception for you."

"You seem to be under the impression that I'm going to cooperate..." she deadpanned.

"You seem to be under the impression you have a choice," he retorted. "Your wife learned to love me, I'm sure you will too in time."

"Fuck you – I'll never love you!"

"I suggest you play along, Love...it'll make this whole thing a lot less painful."


	10. Chapter 10

"Phone Lucy," Hotch demanded.

"She's not answering," Morgan said, phone still to his ear, listening to her voicemail.

"Try her again."

He shook his head. "Still nothing."

"Try their home number."

"Straight to voicemail," Morgan answered, shaking his head, looking grim. "Would she be at the Ballet by now?"

"Garcia, get us the Company's direct line," Hotch ordered.

She dialled as asked, trying not to show how worried she was. After a brief phone conversation, she turned to the rest of the team with panic in her eyes. "Guys, Lucy didn't show up for rehearsals this morning...and last night, after the show, she was supposed to go to a fundraiser gala thing, but she never showed up."

After a moment of silence filled with understanding glances, Seaver asked, "Would Doyle go after Lucy?"

"Absolutely. He's going after families and Lucy is the only family she's close to," Rossi said.

Garcia gave a little squeak. "So, you think Doyle's got Lucy?"

"We have to assume that he does," Hotch said grimly. "And we have to assume Emily knows." For a moment, he let the implications of that sink in for everyone before he started giving orders, "Garcia, I want you to see if there's any security footage from last night that might give us an idea what happened to Lucy and where Doyle might have taken her. He's had her for over twelve hours by now, that gives him a big lead..."

* * *

Doing his best to quash his anger, Morgan continued searching the en-suite bathroom while Rossi fished the necklace out of the toilet. With a frown, he opened the medicine cabinet, then hummed a little noise somewhere between interest and concern.

"You find something?" Rossi asked.

Plucking a glass vial from the cabinet shelf and examining it, he was silent for a moment before responding. "Emily ever mention anything to you about either of them being on some kind of injectible medication?" he asked.

Rossi shook his head, brow furrowing at the odd question.

"Because there are a hell of a lot of vials here..." Morgan continued, tone grim.

"Call Reid," Rossi suggested. "Maybe he knows what they're for." He wasn't certain it was in any way helpful to the investigation, but they were in no position to overlook potentially helpful information.

"Hey, kid," Morgan said when Reid picked up the phone.

"You got something?" His voice was filled with obvious worry, but there was a note of hope that maybe – just _maybe –_ they were calling to say they'd found Emily.

"Possibly," he said, wishing he had more helpful news. "I'm going to give you a list of prescription drugs – can you tell us what they're used for?" he asked, proceeding to list off the medications.

"That's not good," Reid said, more to himself than to Morgan.

"What's not good?" Rossi asked from over Morgan's shoulder.

Reid hesitated a moment before delivering the news. "That's a cocktail of drugs used before artificial insemination. I'd guess they were prescribed to Lucy – they require frequent OB/GYN appointments to monitor hormone levels and we would have noticed if it were Emily."

Rossi frowned, then asked the question they were all thinking but hadn't dared voice, "Could Doyle know she was on them?"

"If he's been following them long enough," Reid supposed quietly.

"Then that's a problem..."

* * *

Emily was struggling against the ropes keeping her wrists and ankles bound when Ian walked in carrying a laptop. "Good to see you awake, Love," he said, almost conversationally.

"Fuck you, Ian," she growled, immediately dispensing with all niceties.

"Ah-ah," he scolded. "Mind your manners. I was just coming to give you a gift."

"I don't want anything from you," she snapped.

"I really think you do," he insisted as he set the laptop down, opened the screen.

Emily maintained her stony glare as he pressed a few keys, the screen coming to life. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dark background, to make out what she was supposed to be seeing, then there was movement, causing her to gasp sharply. " _Lucy_!" she cried out, watching her wife stare at something just beyond the camera – likely whoever was keeping her captive. "Lucy!"

Ian dialled a number, spoke briefly into the phone in Gaelic, then hung up. For a brief moment, nothing happened, then suddenly, Lucy looked up sharply, staring at the camera. "Emily!" she nearly sobbed. "Oh, God, Emily, I'm so sorry! I'm _so_ sorry – I should have listened to you, I should have..."

"No, Lucy!" Emily insisted. She struggled harder against her bonds. "No, no, no! This is _not_ your fault, okay? None of this is your fault!"

Tears streaked down Lucy's cheeks. "Emily, if I never get to see you again..."

"No, Lucy!" Emily choked, tears building in her own eyes. "Don't say that – I _will_ see you, okay? I will get out of here and I will find you. I promise!"

"Oh, Emily..." Ian scolded, "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep."

Emily did her best to block out his taunting, to focus on her wife because hard as she tried to deny it, there was every chance this was the last time they'd ever speak to each other. "Listen to me, Lucy. I love you! I love you more than life itself. Don't ever forget that, okay? Promise me."

"I promise," Lucy vowed. "I love you, Emily, I love you so much, I..."

"I think that's enough," Ian said from behind her, hand creeping along her neck.

" _No_!" Emily begged, "No, please, just a little longer..."

Ian hummed a note. "As touching as this is, I'm afraid your time is up. Say goodbye."

Before she had the chance to say anything more, there was movement behind Lucy and she started struggling in vain. "Emily!" she cried out, "Em-" Then, the video cut out.

As much as possible in her restraints, Emily rounded on Ian. "You have me, you bastard! Let her go! She's done nothing to you!"

"I already told you, Love – this is retribution. You took my son, you _earned_ this."

"But _she_ didn't! I'll do whatever you want, I'll be Lauren, please, just let her go," she begged in spite of having told herself she wouldn't. "Just let her go..."

"You know," Ian mused aloud, "I could really take a liking to her... Maybe once I've done away with you, I'll keep her. I could never quite break you, but I think she'll be easier to mould into what you refused to be: the perfect little wife and mother."

Chest heaving with panicked breaths, Emily growled, "You'll never break her and she'll _never_ love you! If you kill me, she will _never_ do what you want, I promise you that."

"We'll see, won't we?" he said, almost pleasantly.


	11. Chapter 11

"Lucy..." Emily croaked, "You have to find her..." She coughed, blood bubbling from her lips.

"I know, Em, I know," Derek soothed.

"Please," she sobbed. "Ian...he..."

He squeezed her hand. "We'll find her, Em," he promised. "We'll bring her home, okay?"

A tear trickled down her cheek. "You have to save her."

* * *

In the silence of the waiting room, Garcia was the first to break the silence; with a sniffle and a quiet hiccup, she asked, "We _are_ going to find Lucy...aren't we?"

For a long time, no one responded, which was answer enough.

The next question was, "What's going to happen to her?"

"I don't think he'll hurt her," Reid reassured, "So long as he has her, he's hurting Emily. He knows that she'll never stop looking for her."

Seaver asked the question everyone was avoiding, "What if Emily doesn't make it?" What she meant was: 'Won't that make Lucy expendable?'

No one had an answer to that. At least, not one that was comforting...

* * *

"Where's Lucy?" Emily demanded as soon as she was conscious and cognizant enough to remember the recent events. "Where's my wife?"

"Emily, you need to calm down," JJ murmured from the chair beside the bed where she'd been waiting for her to wake up. "If you don't calm down, they're going to sedate you." She'd already woken up once and panicked to the point of busting several stitches.

"Please," she begged, "Where's Lucy?"

"I'll tell you, but you have to promise to remain calm, okay?" She squeezed Emily's hand until she squeezed back. "Doyle has Lucy," she said slowly, maintaining a tight grip on her hand. "We're doing everything we can to find her, but Em..."

"She's probably already dead," Emily said on a quaking breath.

"We're not going to stop looking, okay?" JJ reassured her.

Emily's breath hitched. "Jayje, she's... I can't... I _need_ her..."

"I know, Em. I can't imagine how difficult this is for you – if something like this were to happen to Will..." She shook her head. "We all care about Lucy and we're doing everything we can to bring her home safe."

Emily nodded once, twice, but she looked lost. "I, umm..." She looked about frantically. "I need to get out of here – where are my clothes?" She started picking at the tape holding her IV lines in place.

"Emily, you need to calm down," JJ urged. "You're still not stable enough to leave."

"I need to be out there looking for her! I _know_ Doyle, I can find him, I just need..."

JJ wrapped her fingers tightly around Emily's wrists to stop her from pulling out the IVs. "Emily, you can't. You know you can't be on this case. You're going to have to trust us, okay? Trust us to find her."

A sob burst forth from her chest in spite of herself. JJ wrapped her in a gentle embrace, holding her as she cried.

* * *

Lucy had been with Emily long enough that her first instinct upon waking wasn't to dwell on the unfortunate circumstances, but to evaluate her surroundings, to look for any means of escape.

The room in which she awoke was comfortable, almost, except for the fact that it was very obviously a cage meant to keep her prisoner – with no windows and a sole door which locked from the outside. If she had to guess, based on dimensions and the hollow metal clanking sound when she pounded on the walls, she was being held in a makeshift shipping container...which, unfortunately, meant she could be just about anywhere.

The container had been retrofitted into a little apartment with a sleeping area, a bathroom, and a small sitting area. Without windows, it was impossible to tell whether it was day or night outside, no clocks to alert her to the passage of time and there was no television or computer, leaving her no way of connecting to the outside world. Obviously, it was intended that she'd be there for an extended period of time, though she couldn't for the life of her imagine why he was keeping her alive instead of just killing her...

When the door opened for the first time, she was still coming down off whatever she'd been drugged with to keep her complacent during the journey, meaning she knew she was at a decided disadvantage. Doyle stepped into the makeshift prison, the door immediately closing and locking behind him. He was unarmed – they both knew he didn't need to be; even if she did manage to physically best him, there was no way for her to escape.

"I'm sorry to have to do this," he said and he almost sounded genuine. His eyes never left her, nearly burning her with the intensity of his gaze. "This was never meant to be your fight."

"What do you want from me?" Lucy asked, voice trembling against her will. She could feel her hands shaking at her sides and she balled them into fists lest she give her fear away. She could feel her nails cutting into the flesh of her palm, surely hard enough to leave marks.

"You wouldn't be here if your lovely wife had only given me my son," he continued as if he hadn't heard her. "I don't think it's wrong of me to want my son back – do you?" When she failed to answer, he clicked his tongue almost scoldingly, shook his head, then seemed to change the subject, "Did you decide on a father for your child?"

Lucy's stomach turned over, seeing her future all too clearly. Her legs were unsteady under her and she was forced to sit on the edge of the bed lest she collapse. "Please..." she choked out, even though she knew there would be no dissuading him from what he intended to do.

He reached out a hand to gently stroke her cheek, his hand like ice on her skin. "Perhaps once she knows what it's like to have a child taken from you, she might be convinced to trade my son for your child..."


	12. Chapter 12

Lucy had known she was a lesbian since she was fifteen. She'd never had a boyfriend, never even kissed a boy. She'd never been on birth control. Getting pregnant had simply never been a concern in her life...until the day she and Emily had decided they wanted a baby.

The day she'd started fertility treatments, she'd been filled with a sense of overwhelming joy and anticipation. Now, though, she feared they'd be her undoing...

 _Please don't let me get pregnant_ , she prayed every single day. And every single day, a traitorous little part of her mind reminded her of the odds – afterall, her body thought that was the goal, had spent the last several weeks preparing to be pregnant. Chances were, Doyle was going to get exactly what he wanted...

 _Please don't let me get pregnant_ , she prayed every single day, even as the primal part of her brain shut off as he found all the right spots on her body with his hands, the rough, gun-calloused tips of his fingers. As he left bruises on her neck, on her hips, encircling her wrists. As he made her buck up against him, made her cry out, made her come.

 _Please don't let me get pregnant,_ she prayed every single day, even as her body betrayed her and she came. He took great pleasure in being her first – the first man to enter her, to bring her to orgasm, and ultimately, come inside her – the hot rush of his release inside her feeling all at once so good and so repulsive.

 _Please don't let me get pregnant_ , she prayed every single day, even as he pulled out of her and locked the door behind him, leaving her sobbing silently at the feeling of being used, of being exploited. She had no illusions about what he thought of her: she was an animal he was trying to breed, chattel plain and simple. She felt so dirty, so _disgusting_.

 _Please don't let me get pregnant_ , she prayed every single day as she moved about her daily life as a prisoner, trying to convince herself that any day now, the team would come knocking on the door of the cell and free her, bringing her back to Emily's arms. Even as she tried to ignore the little voice at the back of her mind that questioned whether she'd even _want_ her anymore...

 _Please don't let me get pregnant_ , she prayed as she tried to decipher how long she'd been there, even as she felt a churning in her gut when, day after day, her period failed to show up. Because no matter how hard she tried to convince herself it was because of stress or weight loss or literally _anything else_ , she just _knew_...

She got her answer, then, when he showed up one day with a pregnancy test in his hand, confirming what she already suspected. He handed it to her wordlessly and, hands shaking so hard her fingers could barely keep hold of it, she shut herself in the little bathroom where she promptly broke down in tears because this was _not_ the way this was supposed to happen.

This moment was supposed to be a time of joy and eager anticipation and a shaky hug from her wife as they waited to see if their lives were about to change forever. She was supposed to feel an overwhelming combination of excitement and nervousness and love, instead of this all-consuming dread.

The following five minutes were the longest of her life. She sat perched on the lid of the toilet, head in her quivering hands to hide the silent tears dribbling down her cheeks, already knowing her prayers had gone unanswered. Ian paced and he almost seemed like he actually cared about the result and she couldn't help but wonder if he actually cared at all about the child she knew was growing in her womb or if it was simply a means to an end.

When the second little pink line appeared, she actually saw him smile for the first time since she'd been there. The expression was unsettling, sinister, almost, and it did nothing to ease the palpitations of fear pounding in her chest.

"I want my baby, Lucy," he said. "Emily wouldn't give me my son, you'll give me a replacement."

The next day when he brought her breakfast, there was a bottle of prenatal vitamins next to her orange juice. It was thoughtful, in a strange, twisted way. It was the closest to being cared about she'd felt after weeks of being treated like a sex object rather than an actual person.

He always stayed to watch her eat, making sure she wasn't about to die of starvation. She wasn't particularly hungry, pushing the scrambled eggs around her plate, the idea of actually eating making her stomach turn, whether from morning sickness or anxiety, she couldn't be sure. The orange juice she'd dutifully drank – along with the vitamin – sat in her stomach like a rock, the acid still burning her tongue like bile.

"You seem awfully confident that I'm just going to stay put," she said bitterly, staring down at her plate, feeling his eyes intently on her.

"You could try to escape if you want," he informed her simply, almost conversationally. "I'm not stopping you." He waved at the door as if daring her to go. As if there weren't armed guards waiting outside to recapture her the moment she set foot outside.

She looked up then, daring to stare straight into his eyes, refusing to succumb to his shows of authority. "I could slit my wrists," she said plainly. _'Hold my head under the water of the bath until I drown,'_ she thought. _'Rip the sheets off the bed and hang myself with them.'_

"But you wouldn't do that to your baby, would you?" He kept his eyes locked with hers, challenging her almost.

She said nothing because there was nothing to say.

He smiled patronizingly, leaned over to stroke her cheek. "I always knew you'd be a good mother."


	13. Chapter 13

JJ marched into the roundtable room where Hotch and Morgan were reviewing paperwork from the last case. "You need to see this," she said gravely, turning the wall screen to a news broadcast.

" _Tonight, we're asking for the public's help in identifying this woman..."_ the anchor relayed emotionlessly.

She paused the broadcast. A haunting picture flashed across the screen: a young woman with gaunt, sunken cheeks and deathly pale skin. Her long crimson hair hung in matted locks and entire chunks seemed to have fallen out. Her blue eyes were empty and lifeless.

She was nearly unrecognizable, but there was no mistaking this shell of a woman for Lucy.

Hotch's expression was grave. "Has Emily seen this?"

JJ shook her head. "She's at therapy for another hour."

"Where is she?" Morgan asked, eyes still glued to the screen, unable to look away from the picture of what had once been a vibrant and joyous young woman.

"New York," JJ replied. "I'm on hold with the Chief of Police, trying to get us an invitation in."

"Good," Hotch remarked sombrely. "I'll call the team."

"There's something else you should know," JJ interrupted, her expression grim. "She's six months pregnant..."

* * *

Lucy looked up sharply, eyes wide and frightened, at the sound of a knock on the door of her hospital room. She wrapped an arm protectively around her belly as if afraid someone might try to take her baby from her.

She hadn't slept since they'd brought her to the hospital, not trusting that should she close her eyes she wouldn't open them to find herself back in the dungeon that had been her home for the last half a year. It had taken the doctors nearly a full day to convince her to let them do an ultrasound, a further twelve hours before she'd eat what they offered her.

"Lucy?" a gentle voice asked. JJ stepped part way into the room, offering a faint reassuring smile. "Can I come in?"

For a few moments, she seemed to hesitate, to weigh whether she still trusted this woman she'd once known so well. Eventually, she nodded slowly, saying nothing. It didn't escape JJ's notice that she still cradled her belly distrustfully.

Taking the seat next to the bed, JJ asked, "How are you feeling?" even though she knew it was a hollow gesture, given the hell she'd no doubt been through over the last seven months, if the appalling condition she was in was any indication.

Lucy shrugged, either not having an answer or not wanting to share it.

JJ understood that all too well. "I want to talk to you about what happened," she said, "Is that okay? We'll go slowly and I'll be by your side the entire time." She seemed reluctant, so JJ said, "We need to know what happened so that we can keep you and your baby safe."

She nodded then, slowly, timidly. The fear was in her eyes again at the prospect of reliving it. JJ could see her hands start to shake and, wordlessly, reached over to gently wrap her fingers around the hand not clutching her belly. The contact seemed to startle her, but after a moment or two, she relaxed into the gesture.

"You're safe here, okay?" JJ reassured, offering an encouraging smile. "We've got a protective detail on your room 'round the clock – no one can hurt you or your baby." She watched as Lucy's posture released some tension, but her hand never left the swell of her stomach. "Close your eyes, okay?" she prompted. "Take a deep breath."

Lucy slowly let out a heavy breath, eyes falling shut after one last wary glance at the doorway.

"Let's go back to the night you were abducted. Where are you? What are you doing?"

"I've just come out of the theatre," Lucy whispered, voice cracking with disuse. "I'm running late to the booster gala – I haven't had time to dry my hair and it's starting to freeze. I'm flagging down a cab."

"Good," JJ encouraged. "Tell me what you saw. Was it dark out?"

Lucy nodded. "The streetlights are on. It's cold out – I can see my breath on the air. I've forgotten my wrap in my dressing room, but I don't have time to go back for it. I'm shivering."

"You're flagging down a cab," JJ reminded. "Does one stop?"

She shook her head. "I decide to cross the street. I step off the sidewalk and then..." She shook her head once, twice, eyes flying open. "Then I can't remember. I must've gotten hit..." She turned to JJ with apology written across her face. "I'm sorry."

"Okay," JJ soothed, "That's okay. What's the next thing you remember?"

"I wake up and he-he's staring at me. I remember his eyes so clearly...he seemed so kind at first." She brought her fingers up to her forehead tentatively. "I'm bleeding. He says...they're taking me to the hospital."

"Does he say anything else?" JJ prompted.

She paused, brows knitting together in concern. "He knows my name," she murmured. "I ask him how he knows me and he says... He says he's a friend of Emily's." She gasped, choked. "Oh, God, Emily! Where is she? Is she okay? I need... I need to see her, please!"

"Lucy, you need to calm down," she urged calmly as the heart monitor started blaring cacophonously with her panic.

"You don't understand," Lucy sobbed. "I was so upset with her that night... She told me not to go to the gala, she said it wasn't safe and she was right, but I didn't listen and now... This is all my fault!"

"No, Lucy," JJ insisted, "None of this was your fault, okay?"

"He had her," she pressed, refusing to believe her assurances. "I don't know what happened to her, but he had her – you have to find her!" She started hyperventilating, setting off the fetal monitor.

Doctors poured into the hospital room then to attend to her distress, forcing JJ out into the hallway. Sighing sadly, she rejoined Hotch and Morgan where they were standing in the hallway with grim expressions on their faces. No one said anything. They all knew things the road ahead wasn't going to be an easy one.


	14. Chapter 14

"Let's talk about the day you escaped," JJ said gently.

She'd already listened to Lucy describe every detail of Ian Doyle raping her repeatedly. After she'd finished, she'd come out of the room and immediately vomited. She'd known going in what had happened, given the fact that she was pregnant, but knowing it and hearing all the horrible details were two very different things...

Lucy nodded blithely. She stared down at the tray of lunch sitting in front of her, listlessly pushing the food about with her fork. JJ hadn't seen her take a single bite and she resisted the urge to cajole her into eating, as she was rather obviously underweight.

"I've been trying to earn his trust," she said, almost robotically. "Emily always said to play into someone's delusion, so I do what he says, I never try to run. I let him think he's broken me."

"Good," JJ said, offering a supportive smile. "You did the right thing." She squeezed Lucy's hand. "You've been there for six months, but something's different about today," she prompted. "What makes you decide to escape?"

"He's bringing me my meals for the day like everyday," she said, "But this time, the doors don't lock behind him. He still has his gun, but I know he won't use it – he won't risk harming the baby." She paused, glancing quickly at the fetal heart monitor as if reassuring herself that she was still, in fact, pregnant. "I know I may only have one chance."

She nodded encouragingly. "Do you have a plan?"

"A few days ago, he brought in a doctor to do an ultrasound and give me vitamin shots since I'm not getting any sun. I waited until they had their backs turned and stole one of the empty syringes, then hid it between the mattress and the bed frame. I've been carrying it in my pocket, waiting for a chance to escape...

"I wait until he turns his back to leave and I stab him in the neck with the syringe and inject him with air. He falls to the floor, spasming. I don't know if he's dead and I don't wait to find out, I just grab his gun and run. There aren't any guards outside, so I just keep running – I know it's only a matter of time before someone notices his absence."

"Where are you?" JJ asked, "Inside or outside?"

"Outside. I think it's a shipping yard... There's so many shipping containers – it's like a maze and I get lost again and again before I find my way out."

"Does anyone try to stop you?"

She shook her head. "There's no one else there, so I start walking."

"There are no police reports of you reporting your kidnapping," JJ said with gentle curiosity. "Why didn't you go to the police?"

"I couldn't," she whispered fearfully. "I couldn't trust anyone – I didn't know who he'd paid off, who was working for him. I couldn't risk going back there..." She shook her head gravely. "Emily was the only person I could trust, so I just kept walking. I guess I must have passed out or something because I woke up in the hospital and I don't remember anything else."

She nodded with understanding. "Is there anything else you remember along the way? Any signs or distinctive landmarks that told you where you were?"

"I think I was in Massachusetts," she offered with a shrug, then apologized, "I'm sorry, I really don't remember much... I looked for the first freeway I could find and followed it until I saw a sign for New York – I knew I could find my way home from there."

"What happened to the gun?" JJ asked. "It wasn't found with you."

"I, umm... I found a pawnshop and sold it. I was going to use the money to buy a train ticket from New York to DC. I know it's probably illegal, but..." She sniffled, blinked back tears. "It was the only choice I had."

"Lucy, you are _not_ in trouble," JJ assured her. "You were held prisoner for seven months – you did what you had to do to survive and absolutely no one is going to fault you for that."

* * *

Derek pulled into a parking space outside the hospital, but made no move to get out of the SUV. Emily stared at him for a few moments, brow creased with concern. "What is it?" she asked, feeling the pit of her stomach sinking.

They'd brought her along to New York – as a consultant, considering she hadn't been cleared for field work yet – but hadn't briefed her on the case. She was perceptive enough to know something significant had happened, though.

"Emily," he said gently, studying her face for her reaction. "Lucy has been found."

It took a few moments for the news to sink in. "Wh-what?" she said, voice trembling. His expression must have been markedly grim because after a moment he watched her face fall, all the colour draining from her skin. "Oh, God... She's dead, isn't she?"

"She's alive," he assured her. "She's here, in the hospital."

"Well, is she okay? Can I see her?"

"Of course," he said, offering a tight smile that she could see through as easily as glass.

"What's wrong?" she asked, face falling again. "What's happened to her?"

"She's fine," he reassured her. "She's dehydrated and malnourished, but there's no lasting injuries."

The _but_ in his words was clear as day. "Then what's wrong?" she pressed, feeling like she might be sick.

"She's..." He faltered, shook his head, hating having to be the one to tell her this. "Emily...she-she's six months pregnant."

She clapped a hand to her mouth, muffling the sob that sprung from her throat. "What?" she rasped when she finally found her voice again.

"I'm so sorry, Em," he whispered. "I can't imagine how difficult this must be for you..."

"I..." She felt tears spring to her eyes and, with shaking hands, she attempted to brush them away before they could fall. "I... Oh, God. I need to see her. Can... Can I see her?"

He nodded, offered an encouraging smile that he hoped didn't look as hollow as it felt.

She attempted to smile back, but with the tears streaking down her face, the effect was heartbreaking.


	15. Chapter 15

Morgan lead Emily through the winding hallways up to Lucy's ward with a hand on her shoulder in a gesture of comfort that she ordinarily would have balked at. The circumstances, though, were anything but ordinary...

JJ and Hotch were waiting outside Lucy's room, clearly trying to maintain neutral expressions so as not to upset Emily – as if she didn't know them well enough to see right through their attempts... For her part, though, she said nothing. There was nothing to say.

JJ swept her into a comforting embrace as soon as she got close enough, whispering something in her ear that Morgan couldn't hear. Emily nodded hollowly, but didn't smile, didn't react at all. Hotch's gesture was much more stoic, but perhaps more poignant, for his having lost Haley. Emily accepted it just as stoically.

She took the last few steps towards Lucy's room, nodding to the officer posted there, then paused, once again shaking like a leaf. She glanced over her shoulder at Morgan who offered her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. Her return expression could only be described as a grimace.

She reached for the door handle, trying to hide the way her hand shook and failing miserably. She looked like a woman headed to the gallows and he couldn't say he blamed her...what waited on the other side of that door was proof that she'd failed to protect her wife when she'd needed her most. At least, that was the way he knew she'd take it, even if there was nothing more any of them could have possibly done to prevent it.

With a long slow exhale, she pushed the door open, taking a trepidatious step inside.

Lucy looked up suddenly at the sound of footsteps and the fear in her eyes nearly killed Emily on the spot. She wanted to run over and sweep her wife up in her arms and murmur assurances in her ear that she was sorry and she'd never let anyone else lay a hand on her...she resisted the urge, though, not entirely certain Lucy would accept it just then.

"Hi, Ella," Emily whispered, using the nickname she'd coined for her wife to tease her about their Cinderella-esque meeting. Her voice was so soft it was barely there at all lest she startle her. She knew all too well the feelings that accompanied spending so long looking over your shoulder, expecting harm at the slightest misstep. She hated being the reason Lucy knew what that felt like.

"Emily..." Lucy choked out and, in spite of the tears that immediately filled her eyes, it was clear she was overjoyed to see her again. "Emily," she repeated, voice trembling almost as much as her hands. "I'm _so sorry_..."

Emily was at her side in the next second, reaching for her hands. "No, Lucy, _no_!" she urged. "You have _nothing_ to be sorry for!"

"But I..." she started to argue, tears streaking down her cheeks.

"No, Lucy," Emily insisted. "Nothing that happened was your fault. If anything, it's mine. I should have been honest with you, told you what was happening – maybe then this wouldn't have happened."

"Em..." she murmured. She chanced meeting her wife's eyes, but was unable to face all the emotions swirling there, just as quickly averting her eyes. She glanced down at her belly, slowly stroking a hand over it.

Emily, for her part, felt like she was choking as she watched Lucy's shaking hand land on her belly...choking on the knowledge that she could have prevented this and had failed. "Lucy, I..." she started.

Lucy interrupted, "I'll put it up for adoption."

"Wh-what?" she stuttered, not having expected that.

"I don't want you to have to raise _his_ baby. Not after what he did to you. I could never ask that of you."

"Lucy... That's... That's not what..." she struggled to form a coherent thought.

"We'll try again," she promised as if that were her main concern.

"Lucy, I don't care who fathered this baby," Emily insisted, finding her tongue again. "I care that it's a part of you and if you want to keep this baby, I will love it more than anything in this world. But only if it's what you want."

Lucy finally met her eyes, searching desperately for something there, though she wasn't entirely certain she knew what it was she was hoping to find. "I... I don't know," she admitted at length. "He..." She heaved a sigh. "I want to love this baby, but I don't know if I can."

"That's fair," Emily assured her. "No one could possibly expect you not to have mixed emotions right now. You've got time to figure it out. _We've_ got time." She offered a faint smile.

"You don't have to..." Lucy said emotionlessly, eyes flicking away again. "What happened... I wouldn't blame you if you could never look at me again."

Emily rested a hand against Lucy's cheek, forcing her to meet her eyes. "Lucy, I need you to listen to me. I don't care what happened – I don't care if you went along with what he wanted, I don't care if you didn't fight him, I don't care if this baby looks exactly like him. I don't give a damn about any of it. I care that you came out the other side. I care that you're here today. I care that I still get to hold you in my arms and tell you I love you because I _do_. I love you more than life itself because you are my wife and you're _alive_. Okay? Don't ever doubt that."

Lucy nodded slowly, eyes never leaving hers even as tears slid down her cheeks.

"Good," Emily said firmly. She seemed to doubt herself then. "Can I... I mean, is it alright if I hold you?"

She nodded again and, in the next second, she was engulfed by Emily's embrace, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe. It took her a few moments to work up the courage to return the embrace, slowly wrapping her arms around Emily's shoulders, heaving with silent sobs.


	16. Chapter 16

"What do we know?"

Emily had refused to leave Lucy's side until she fell into a shallow fitful sleep. And even then, she refused to let her out of her sight. Not that anyone could exactly blame her for that...

They'd gathered outside her hospital room to discuss next steps, but thus far, they'd all remained silent, giving her that look reserved for victims until she wanted to scream. "I'm _fine_ ," she said, perhaps a little too loudly. "I want to know what we're doing to catch the bastard who did this to my wife."

"Prentiss, you know you can't be anywhere near this case," Hotch reminded her, stern, but gentle.

" _Hotch_ ," she retorted, deliberately emphasizing his name. "I need to know that Ian Doyle is going to pay for what he's done to my wife. I know you understand that..." The silence that followed was laden with implication of what had happened with Haley.

"Technically, you haven't even been cleared for field work," he informed her. "You can sit in on the case, but you're not leaving this hospital."

"But..." she started to argue.

"Stay here with your wife," he said, leaving no room for argument. "She needs you right now," he added, gentler. Then, he nodded, giving Reid silent permission to fill her in.

"Lucy told JJ that when she escaped, she was in a shipping yard, possibly in Massachusetts. So, given her poor physical condition, I estimated a walking speed of no more than two miles an hour; now, she said she walked for about five days, which gives puts her origin in approximately _this_ area." He tapped on a map laid out on the nurses' desk.

"Knowing Doyle, he'd feel most comfortable in an area with a large Irish population," Emily said.

"That would be Scituate," Garcia piped up from the phone. "Over sixty percent of the population is Irish. I can't find any property under his known aliases there, but he probably didn't use a name we'd recognize, so I'm still digging."

"Rossi and Morgan, I want you to head to Scituate, see if you can't find any evidence of Doyle and where he was holding Lucy," Hotch instructed. "The rest of us will work the case from here." What he didn't say was that they were staying there to hold Emily together when it was clear she was barely able to keep from falling apart...

Emily offered them a grateful smile.

Rossi pulled her into a hug, murmured into her hair, "Be strong, Cara."

(That was a promise she wasn't sure she could make...)

* * *

"It's going to take some time," JJ murmured gently, leaning back against the wall outside Lucy's room beside Emily. Inside the room, Lucy was getting an ultrasound and she'd pointedly insisted that Emily not be there with her.

"I know."

"It doesn't mean she doesn't want you there," JJ added.

"I know," Emily repeated. "I know exactly what's going to happen. I've been doing this long enough to know how trauma victims react."

"Studying it and living it are two very different things," JJ reminded. "It's not going to be any easier because you've read all the textbooks. None of this is going to be easy, but you'll get through it – _together_. We'll _all_ do it together. We're going to be here to help you the whole time." She offered what she hoped was an encouraging smile, even if she felt anything but.

"I don't know how to help _her_ ," she admitted quietly, voice barely there at all. "I don't know how to guide her through this, how to hold her hand when she doesn't want me there with her. I don't know how to do this."

"No one expects you to," JJ insisted. "This isn't something you can study for, prepare for. This is brand new territory for everyone. And all you can do is love her through it. That's the best that anyone can do right now."

"I'm not sure she's going to let me..." Emily said.

"She's going to need you. It's just hard right now – you have to know she's feeling incredibly ashamed right now, incredibly frightened that you're going to reject her and the only way she knows how to deal with that is to keep you at arms' length while she learns to trust people again. To trust _you_ again."

Emily nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "What do you think she'll do?" she asked at length. Then, clarified, "About the baby?"

JJ let out a heavy sigh. "I wish I could tell you."

"What would _you_ do?" she pressed, almost pleading, desperate for some sort of guidance, for any light in the darkness she was currently wandering through.

"I don't know that I could spend every day raising a reminder of what had been done to me," she said softly, almost reluctantly. "But... _his_ genes don't necessarily create something evil – Declan's proof of that." Silence fell between them again. "What do you _want_ her to do?"

"I don't know," Emily whispered. "I just want her to be okay."

"She will be," JJ promised. "With time. You both will." For a few moments, she watched as Emily picked at her nails anxiously before reaching over to wrap a hand around her wrist, stopping the fidgeting. "You should go in there."

"She said she didn't want me there," Emily argued.

"I don't think she really meant that," she insisted. "I think she's trying to save you from having to face the reality of her pregnancy because she knows what Doyle did to you too. She's trying to protect you. Because if this isn't real for you, it isn't real for her either and she doesn't have to face making a decision that won't be easy either way and she doesn't have to thrust her decision upon you when you may not like what she decides."

Emily shook her head slowly, sadly. She didn't know what to say to that. She didn't know what to say at all – all the years of high-priced education failing her in the face of something she never even began to fathom having to face one day.

JJ gently nudged her with her elbow after her anxious silence stretched on for too long. "Go. Be with your wife."


	17. Chapter 17

Emily lay beside Lucy in her hospital bed. There wasn't much room for either of them – particularly with her six month pregnant belly between them – but she certainly wasn't about to complain about her wife wanting to be held.

Lucy had nodded off not long ago, but Emily remained wide awake. She wasn't sure she'd ever be able to sleep again without that all-consuming fear that she'd wake up to find Lucy gone again.

With one hand, she gently stroked the swell of Lucy's belly in search of that small movement beneath her palm, in search of a connection to this child she so desperately wanted to feel.

Seven months ago, she and Lucy had been preparing themselves to be parents. Seven months ago, they'd debated nursery colours and baby names and godparents. Seven months ago, things had been as close to perfect as she'd ever thought possible.

In seven months, everything had changed.

And she wasn't sure they'd ever get back to where they'd been. Wasn't sure Lucy would ever fully recover enough to try for another baby. Wasn't sure Doyle hadn't taken everything good in her life away from her without even trying.

She sniffled softly, trying hard to blink back tears lest Lucy awake and see her crying. She was doing everything in her power to put on a strong front for her wife, to keep her calm and make her believe that everything was going to be okay when it seemed like nothing would.

She didn't know how Hotch had done it – how he'd seemingly kept himself together for so long after Haley. She felt like a cracked cup trying to keep the water inside from leaking out.

Beneath her hand, there was the slightest twitch. Little butterfly wings under her palm. And in that moment, everything was suddenly so undeniably _real_ that she couldn't breathe. She couldn't help the small sound that choked out from her throat seemingly independent of her control.

She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep the desperate gasps that followed from spilling forth. She could hardly breathe in that moment and fought the urge to be sick – it was like everything was finally hitting her in that moment, bringing her world tumbling down around her. She was tempted to run from the room, from the unflinching reality, but any sudden movement would undoubtedly wake Lucy and she'd be forced to face her wife and she had no idea how to face her just then.

She spent several moments consciously working to control her breathing, her heart rate, swallowing down the urge to vomit.

When the roiling in her stomach finally settled and she regained awareness of her surroundings, she found Lucy silently blinking up at her, concern in her eyes.

"Hey," Emily whispered, offering her a tender smile as she reached over to squeeze her hand. "What are you doing awake?"

For a moment, she didn't answer, simply staring at their joined hands as if the gesture were foreign to her. "I heard you retching," she eventually answered, "Are you okay?"

"I should be the one asking you that," Emily said by way of answering, possibly because she didn't want to make Lucy feel guilty for the situation over which she had no control. Then she attempted to divert her attention with a gentle command, "You should go back to sleep – it's late and you need your rest."

"I'm not tired," she insisted.

Emily had been around trauma victims long enough to know that translated to _nightmares_. "Do you want to talk about it?" she whispered.

She shrugged emptily which was, perhaps, the best answer she could have come up with in that moment.

Emily, for her part, understood completely. Saying nothing, she let Lucy snuggle down into her chest again, merely holding her because that was what she needed just then.

In the next moment, Lucy surprised the both of them when she said, "I think I need to keep her..." The words were barely audible even as they seemed to explode on contact with the air.

"You mean..." Emily started, faltered, trying to keep all emotion from her voice lest Lucy mistake it for judgement.

Lucy nodded. "I know it doesn't make any sense and it might possibly be the stupidest thing I've ever said, but..." She shrugged. "She's my daughter."

"Okay." The agreement was whole-hearted and immediate.

She forced herself into an awkward half-sitting position so she could look at her wife properly, needing to see the truth in her eyes. "But..."

"She's our daughter," Emily agreed.

"You don't have to..." Lucy started to protest.

"She's _our_ daughter," she repeated, leaving no room for argument.

Again there was silence as Lucy seemed to weigh the readiness with which Emily had agreed to raise this baby with her. This baby fathered by a man who'd tortured and nearly killed her. A man who was, by every definition, pure evil... At length, a thought seemed to occur to her. "She... I mean... The baby...she has a brother, right?"

If she was surprised by the sudden tangent, Emily didn't say so. "Declan," she said, "He just turned thirteen." She reached for her phone, pulling up the most recent photo Declan had sent to her.

She couldn't help the way the breath seemed to catch in her throat as she looked at the picture, the boy nearly a spitting image of his father. "And he's... _good_?" she asked hesitantly, voice almost trembling for fear of the answer. She knew it was irrational, but she needed the assurance that she wasn't making a mistake in keeping the baby.

"Very," Emily said, understanding her motives all too clearly. "He's everything his father wasn't." She didn't say that their daughter wouldn't grow up to be like her father either, didn't say a lot of things. It wasn't the time.

Lucy nodded, digesting that information. "I need to meet him," she said eventually. She scraped her teeth across her bottom lip. "He's... He's family now."


	18. Chapter 18

" _Is Prentiss there?"_ Morgan asked over the speakerphone.

"She's still at the hospital," Hotch answered. Having learned everything there was to be learned from Lucy's recollection of events, they'd returned to the BAU to work the case. "Did you find something?"

" _We talked to the owner of the shipyard,"_ he said, _"He remembered a man matching Doyle's description renting a container about six months ago. Says he never saw or suspected anything untoward. But Doyle paid him extra not to ask questions, so he kept his distance."_

" _He showed us to the container,"_ Rossi continued, _"It's obviously where he kept Lucy. There's marks on the bed that show there was a chain attached there at some point, which corresponds to what she said. She's lucky to have escaped when she did – there's only one way in or out and he probably kept it guarded most of the time."_

"Any sign of a struggle?" Hotch asked.

" _None,"_ Morgan answered. _"His body was left right where he fell. Looks like anyone he had working for him fled when they found him."_

"He's dead?"Hotch asked for confirmation.

" _Coroner says a couple days,"_ Rossi said, _"Matches up with Lucy's story. He's got a puncture mark from the syringe, looks like an air embolism, but we won't know for sure until he's done the autopsy."_

" _You'll excuse me if I don't cry for the bastard,"_ Morgan said, barely audible, but obviously intended to be heard.

* * *

Emily was nearly frantic with nervous energy. She needed this meeting to go well for a number of reasons...

She needed Declan to like Lucy because she was her wife.

She needed Lucy to like Declan because he was like a son to her.

She needed both of them to like each other because they were going to be forever linked by this baby.

"Em, you're going to make me motion sick if you keep pacing," Lucy warned softly, eyes following her wife's movement about the cramped hospital room. (Though, to be fair, if she hadn't been hooked up to so many monitors, she might have been pacing too.)

Emily stopped sharply, looked up from where she'd been checking her watch every few moments. "Oh. Sorry," she mumbled as if only just remembering she wasn't alone in the room.

"It's going to be fine," she promised, even if she wasn't entirely sure she believed that. It was what Emily needed to hear in that moment, though, so she acted as if she did. She pulled a tight smile across her lips, the expression feeling foreign on her face.

"I know," she agreed, though it was clear from her expression she was rather dubious about it. "I just... He's going to have questions and I'm not entirely sure how to answer them. He knows his father wasn't a good man, but..." She shrugged emptily.

Lucy nodded slowly. She hadn't thought of that. Truthfully, she'd thought of very little outside herself and Emily and how the two of them were going to get through the next three months. "What if he hates me?" she asked, almost apropos of nothing.

"Why would he hate you?" Emily asked. She settled in the chair beside her bed and rested a hand on Lucy's blanket-covered thigh to find it shaking slightly.

"I killed his father..." she whispered. It was the first time she'd actually said those words aloud. She wasn't sorry – the man had held her prisoner and raped her repeatedly afterall – but that didn't mean she'd _wanted_ to take the boy's father away from him.

"Ella, look at me," she urged. When blue eyes met her own, she affirmed, "This world is better off without Ian Doyle in it. You shouldn't for one single second feel guilty over what you did. Maybe Declan won't understand that just yet, but one day he will."

"Then why are you so nervous?" Lucy dared to ask.

Emily heaved a sigh; of course Lucy saw right through her...she always had. "I just want our daughter to have her brother in her life," she answered simply. "Maybe more for his sake than for hers..."

Anything more they might have said on the matter was interrupted by a timid knock on the hospital room door, followed by a head of blond hair peeking into the room. "Hi, Emmy," Declan greeted awkwardly. He couldn't quite meet Lucy's gaze.

Emily swept him up in a familiar embrace. "I've missed you, Dec." The two exchanged a few whispered words before Emily wrapped an arm around his shoulders and lead him over to Lucy's bedside and introduced, "Dec, this is my wife, Lucy."

He gave a tentative little wave, eyes finally catching hers for a brief moment, then flitting away just as quickly. "Hi."

Lucy's return smile was just as hesitant. "I've heard a lot about you," she offered by way of greeting. "It's really nice to finally meet you." The words felt stilted and awkward, but they were all she had to offer just then.

"So," he said, turning to Emily with curious eyes, "What's the big surprise you mentioned on the phone?"

Lucy's face went white as a sheet almost instantly at that and Emily reached for her hand in a silent gesture of support.

"You're, umm..." Emily cleared her throat. "You're going to have a baby sister..."

Declan's eyes went from Emily to Lucy to her belly and back to Emily. "You mean..." He paused, apparently doing math in his head. "My dad..."

Emily nodded when words seemed to fail him. "Lucy's baby – _our_ baby – is going to be your half-sister."

"I thought..." He paused, cleared his throat. "I thought my dad was in prison."

For a moment, Emily was silent and it was clear on her face that she was trying to decide the best way to explain what had happened in a way the boy would understand. "He was," she agreed, "But he escaped. And, well..." She trailed off, leaving the rest of the details unsaid. He didn't need to know.


	19. Chapter 19

There came a soft knock at the door to Lucy's hospital room. Emily looked up from the baby name book JJ had lent her, offering a faint smile when she saw Morgan standing there. "You're back," she said by way of greeting.

He nodded once in agreement. "She asleep?" he asked quietly, glancing at Lucy's unconscious form.

Emily looked over at her wife, reaching over to stroke her hair out of her face. "She's still exhausted. Which, I guess is understandable after walking across four states." Her eyes glinted with sadness that turned quickly to anger. "Please tell me you found something in Massachusetts..."

He nodded towards the hallway, silently asking to speak with her where they wouldn't be overheard should Lucy suddenly wake up.

As soon as they were out of Lucy's earshot, Emily repeated herself, more urgently this time, "What did you find?"

"Doyle's dead," he answered, understanding the true question perfectly.

"Did Lucy kill him?" she asked, softer, less certain.

He nodded. There was nothing else that needed to be said.

"Good." She let out a breath that seemed to take all the tension inside her with it.

He watched her seem to deflate in on herself, watched all the fight seem to leave her, leaving behind an empty shell of the woman he knew. He reached over and lightly squeezed her shoulder. "How are you holding up?" he asked softly, even if he already knew she was on shaky ground.

"I'm fine," she answered almost immediately, far too quickly to be believable.

He raised a brow, clearly skeptical.

"Really," she insisted. He didn't need to voice his disbelief for her to recognize it. "I can't... I can't stop to have emotions right now. I just need to get Lucy through this." What exactly she meant by _this_ , though, was unclear.

"Em, that's not healthy," he said gently. "I know you're the queen of compartmentalization, but I really don't think..."

"What do you want from me?" she burst out, pleading and little bit desperate. "I am _barely_ holding it together right now, but Lucy is my main priority and if she sees me break down, I don't think she could handle it, so you'll have to excuse me if I keep everything bottled up."

He nodded slowly, eyes compassionate, but sad. "What can I do?" he asked, full of earnestness and genuineness.

She let out a shaky breath, clearly full of withheld tears. She swallowed thickly, tongue flicking out over her lip. "I, umm... I need help setting up a nursery. They're going to release Lucy in a few days and I want to surprise her, to show her that I mean it when I say I want to raise this baby with her."

"That I can do," he agreed readily. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his chest for a hug that, even if she insisted she didn't want it, she collapsed into anyway.

* * *

While Lucy had been missing, Emily had turned to Morgan for support.

Maybe it would have made more sense to look to Hotch for guidance, since he knew how she was feeling, but she'd spent so long partnered with Morgan in the field that she just naturally leaned on him, trusting him explicitly.

Not to mention that she knew he would never stop hunting Doyle, so long as he drew breath. The others would trust in the powers that be and their decision to take them off the case, but Derek Morgan was not that man.

For the first several weeks, she hadn't felt safe sleeping alone, so he'd taken it upon himself to spend every night on her couch, without complaint, no matter how many times she insisted he didn't have to do that.

And during those nights when all she could do was think of Lucy, he'd sit with her and stroke her back as she sobbed. And when morning came, he never mentioned those nights, knew her well enough to know she was too prideful for that.

He never suggested she move on. Never suggested that she make her peace and make funeral arrangements. He never once hinted that perhaps Lucy was already dead. He'd never given up hope and never let her give up either.

He'd been a rock for her during the worst period of her life.

She wasn't sure where he fit into things, now that Lucy was back and, in a lot of ways, she'd need more support than ever.

* * *

"Hey, pretty girl," Morgan greeted when Lucy woke up. He'd waited around while she slept, wanting to be the one to tell her that she was well and truly _safe_. Her monster was dead and she could move forward without having to look over her shoulder.

She smiled, perhaps a little shakily, but didn't say anything.

"Or, should I say pretty _girls_ ," he amended with a grin. "I guess Garcia's not the only Baby Girl around here anymore..."

That got a little laugh out of her, but it was more subdued than usual. A moment of silence passed. "Where's Emily?" she asked at length.

"She just went to grab some coffee," he reassured her. "She'll be back any minute."

There was another beat of silence. "Did you find him?" she asked, so quietly her voice was barely there at all.

He didn't need to ask who she meant. "I did."

"And?"

"He's dead, Lucy."

An expression like relief washed across her face, followed almost immediately by suspicion. "It's really him?"

He understood the hesitation to believe. Afterall, the man had escaped from a North Korean prison that was supposedly impossible to get in or out of... He flicked through his phone, then held up the screen so she could see the picture he'd taken of Doyle in the morgue.

This time, she let out a shaky breath of relief, tears springing to her eyes. "It's really over?" she asked once more.

He nodded. "You're safe... Both of you." He paused, then amended. "All _three_ of you."


	20. Chapter 20

Lucy's hand wrapped tightly around Emily's, squeezing almost hard enough to be painful. Emily said nothing, though she could feel her knuckles popping under the pressure. Lucy needed an anchor in that moment and she was more than happy to be it.

As soon as the front door swung open to admit them to the home Lucy had been convinced she'd never see again, Sergio came rocketing towards them, screeching to a halt upon catching sight of Lucy as if having forgotten who she was. Warily now, he tiptoed towards her, sniffing at her ankles, winding himself around her legs and, ultimately, deciding her uninteresting before stalking off to continue with his disrupted nap.

There came a thudding sound, followed by a curse floating down the hallway. Lucy turned to Emily, brow raised in confusion. A ghost of a smile quirked one side of her lips, but wasn't quite powerful enough to light up her face the way her smile normally did.

Emily just smiled enigmatically; she tugged gently on her hands, leading her down the hall. "Come see..."

Lucy followed her towards the spare bedroom, unsure what she'd find there, but trying to trust Emily.

"Surprise..." Morgan said weakly as the two women crossed the threshold. He gestured vaguely at his attempted construction.

Lucy took in the sight before her with confusion. The walls had been painted a soft shade of lavender, the bed replaced with what she assumed was supposed to be a crib, but was at the moment a pile of white-painted lumber and was apparently the source of the frustration.

She turned to Emily, mouth hanging open slightly as she tried to form words.

Emily's smile was hopeful, if a little wary. "I wanted to surprise you," she said softly in explanation. " _Someone_ was supposed to be finished setting things up already," she added pointedly.

"Hey!" Morgan whined, "This crib is like some kind of impossible puzzle – where did you get it? Da Vinci's workshop?"

Emily rolled her eyes, ignoring him. "The rest of the furniture was back-ordered. But there's going to be a changing table, a bookshelf, and an antique rocking chair. What do you think?"

"I..." she stammered, seemingly unable to find words, "I... You did all this to surprise me?" A watery smile crossed her lips.

"I wanted to show you that I'm all in," she said with a shrug as if the gesture weren't anything big.

Morgan cleared his throat.

"Derek helped," she added with a smirk.

Lucy still seemed overwhelmed by everything, so Emily continued on, "We can change it if you don't like it, of course, I just wanted you to have an idea what it would look like when it's finished. I already asked JJ and she said she's got some toys and things left over from when Henry was a baby."

"I, umm..." Lucy choked out, "I don't know what to say... This is all so-so much and you didn't have to..."

"Of course I did," Emily insisted. "Our daughter needs somewhere to sleep." She smiled softly, reached out to stroke her cheek. "But we don't have to decide anything right now. Why don't we grab some lunch?"

Morgan cleared his throat again.

She rolled her eyes, but offered Lucy a wink. "I guess you can come too..."

Lucy cleared her throat. "Can we go to IHOP?" she asked meekly. "I'd kill for some cinnamon roll pancakes..."

Emily laughed. "Anything you want."

* * *

Lucy had been eager to get pancakes...until they arrived at the restaurant when she suddenly seemed reticent to so much as sit down.

Emily didn't miss the way her hands balled fists in the hem of her sweater to keep them from shaking, the way her face went white, the way her eyes darted about as if looking for an exit.

Derek too was all to aware of Lucy's sudden change in behaviour. He shared a concerned but silent conversation with Emily – they'd both been profilers long enough to know what was going on, but neither said it for fear of upsetting Lucy.

Emily wrapped an arm around Lucy's shoulders, thumb rubbing the spot at the base of her neck that always calmed her. "You're safe, Lucy," she whispered in her ear. "I'm here, Derek's here, nothing is going to happen to you."

She shook her head once, twice. "They're all staring at me," she rasped, throat suddenly dry.

Emily felt awful then, for not having thought of this. Because people were, in fact, staring. Which was understandable, considering that Lucy's picture had been all over the news for months, the story kept at the forefront of people's minds by constant rebroadcasting of the FBI's press conferences and Emily's desperate televised pleas for Lucy's safe return.

It would take some time yet for the clamour of her homecoming to die down.

"They just recognize you," Emily soothed. "They saw your face on the news. They'll stop staring in a minute."

"No, they won't!" Lucy hissed. "I'm _pregnant_ – they're going to figure out why... And then... Then..." She started hyperventilating a little, eyes wide and frantic.

Emily gently guided Lucy to sit, rubbing up and down her heaving spine. "Breathe, Lucy, breathe," she urged. "I promise that no one cares. No one is judging you, no one is condemning you, most people probably aren't even going to do the math, okay?"

"It's not okay," she insisted. "Nothing about this is _okay_!"

"You're right," Emily agreed. "None of this is fair. And it's okay if you're not ready to eat out. We'll just order to go, okay?"

Lucy nodded, swallowing thickly against the surge of guilt that bubbled up her throat. "I'm sorry," she half-sobbed, half-choked.

"You have _nothing_ to be sorry for!" Emily insisted once again. "I wasn't expecting you to get over this overnight. We've got a long way to go and that's normal. I promise. But we're going to do it. Together." It had become something of a mantra for the two of them, a reminder that she'd truly meant it when she'd said _for better or for worse_.

If Lucy believed it, though, in that moment, she didn't show it.


	21. Chapter 21

Emily felt like a hypocrite.

Her mind struggled for a palatable way to word what she knew she had to say, reluctant though she was to put voice to the words.

From her place settled in bed, where she was pretending to be reading (and failing miserably in her distraction), she watched Lucy move through the room, preparing for the night. There was a hesitance – almost wariness – to her movements, like she were afraid to shatter the illusion, as if she were expecting to be awoken at any moment and have this all be revealed as only a dream.

Lucy dug through the dresser drawer containing her pyjamas, then huffed, slamming the drawer shut. She proceeded to stare at herself in the vanity mirror for several long moments, looking at her reflection as if not quite able to believe it really belonged to her. One hand settled on the swell of her stomach – the one piece of her current reality that she couldn't quite make fit with the life she'd lead before the events of the last seven months.

Emily knew there were a lot of issues resting just below the surface of her psyche, but certainly wasn't about to coax them out in that moment. She knew the root of them, though, at least in the present. "There's a box of maternity clothes from JJ," she said, almost off-handedly, nodding to the corner where she'd stored the box. "I'm sure you can find something to sleep in." (Ordinarily, she might have suggested that she just sleep in a bra and panties, like she usually did, but she doubted Lucy was there yet...)

Lucy smiled her thanks, rummaging in the box until she found an over-sized T-shirt, which she pulled on over her head. A sliver of skin poked out between the hem and the top of her shorts and Lucy once again stared at her reflection as if it were a funhouse mirror that would make sense if only she stared at it long enough.

Emily wanted to tell her how cute she looked in that moment, with her exposed belly, messy bun, and maternal glow. She wanted to remind her that this was real, that _she_ was real and would do anything and everything in her power to protect her, even if the thing from which she needed protection was no longer a threat. She wanted to tell her a lot of things. She said none of them.

Lucy settled on the edge of the bed, but looked like she wasn't quite sure what to do with herself – it had been so long since she'd shared a bed with her wife, she almost didn't feel like she belonged there anymore. She wasn't sure she belonged anywhere anymore...

Emily exhaled slowly, mentally preparing herself to say the thing that had been percolating since that moment in the IHOP... "Lucy, I think we should see a therapist," she murmured, trying to be as gentle as possible. She offered a smile that she hoped was comforting. She wanted to reach for her hand, but Lucy remained just outside her reach.

"What?" Lucy asked, breathless. Her eyes glazed over with tears she was struggling to keep at bay.

"Together," she clarified. "I think it's important for us to work through what happened to you. I spent seven months not sure if you were alive or dead, not sure if I'd ever get to see you again and that's something I need to deal with as well."

Emily knew it was probably hollow coming from her mouth, considering how adamantly she'd avoided going to a therapist in the past, in spite of knowing that she probably needed to. The Bureau had ordered her to undergo counselling after Lucy's kidnapping, but part of her had been absolutely certain that they'd find her, so she hadn't given herself wholly to the process. But seeing Lucy's obvious PTSD so brazenly displayed earlier had made it clear that Lucy needed to see someone and, reluctant though she was to admit it, she probably did as well.

"You think I'm broken, don't you?" Lucy whispered. Her breath shuddered as it left her lungs, struggling to escape the lump of tears that had formed in her throat.

"No!" Emily insisted. "Of course not. But you don't have to be broken to need to talk to someone. I know it sounds a little disingenuous coming from me, but I think it's important for us to work through some things. Especially since we're bringing a baby into the world. We can't give ourselves completely to that little girl unless we get some weight off our chests. Both of us."

Lucy worried her lip with her teeth. She suddenly seemed intensely interested in the pattern on the duvet, gaze never leaving it, even as Emily tried to catch her eyes.

"I spoke with someone while you were gone," Emily offered, "I know it's awkward and uncomfortable and kind of scary to bare yourself to a complete stranger, but it really does help. You just have to trust, okay?"

"I don't know who I can trust anymore..."

"You can trust me, right?" Her voice was so soft, gentle, but almost afraid of the answer. "You know that you can always trust me, with anything..." Unable to resist any longer, she reached over, rested a hand on top of Lucy's where it was splayed out, almost like she wanted to reach for Emily but was afraid of being rebuffed.

A beat. Then she nodded. "Yeah," she agreed, just as softly. "Yeah, I do."

"Good." She smiled encouragingly. "Trust me with this, okay?"

"Okay."

Emily nodded once. Then, she patted the bed beside her, indicating Lucy should get under the covers. "Come to bed, you've got to be exhausted – I know I am."

There was no hesitation this time as Lucy settled in beside her like seven months hadn't passed, curling into Emily's side like a child seeking her mother's comfort from the monsters under the bed. Emily pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head, a tender stroke along her belly, and was rewarded with faint movement beneath her palm.


	22. Chapter 22

"I think we've made good progress," the psychiatrist confirmed with a warm smile, setting her notepad aside. "This isn't going to be solved overnight, but if you trust in each other and in the process, you'll absolutely be able to get through this difficult time."

Lucy nodded, attempted a smile. She hadn't said very much over the course of the session, but she'd done her best to keep an open mind. She wanted to make this work, but was reluctant to open up too much for fear of being judged, no matter how many times Emily had assured her that the therapist wasn't there to judge her.

The therapist handed her a blank journal then. When Lucy gave her a quizzical look, she explained, "I often recommend that my patients journal, but instead, I want you to write letters to your unborn child. I think this will help you bond with the baby. You don't ever have to give her this journal, just think of it as a safe place to tell your baby everything you worry about, everything you want her to know about where she came from."

She then handed an identical journal to Emily. "I want you to do the same," she said. "Right now, you're in survival mode, just trying to get through each day, but one day you may find you have some uncomfortable emotions coming up, especially once the baby arrives. By writing her letters, you can create a connection to her as well."

Once they'd returned to the car, Emily looked over at Lucy with a gentle smile, reached for her hand. "I'm proud of you," she murmured. She brought her hand up to kiss her knuckles with tenderness.

"Why?"

"Because I can tell that you really tried today. I know it's not easy to open yourself up to a total stranger like that, but you really made an effort and I appreciate that."

Lucy smiled, nodded, but said nothing.

"And if you want to see her alone, if you'd feel more comfortable talking without me there, I won't be offended," she added.

"I want you there," she said almost immediately. Then, she changed the subject, "Where are we going?"

"I thought you might feel more comfortable if we got you some maternity clothes that are your own style," Emily suggested. "You're a little more _girly_ than JJ's tomboy aesthetic."

"We don't have to..." she started to argue. "It's only for four more months, so there's really no point in...

"Well, we're going to," Emily insisted.

* * *

Lucy was examining the stretchy waistband of a pair of maternity jeans with distaste, Emily having disappeared somewhere among the racks, when a familiar voice called out her name.

Confused by who could possibly have recognized her in a maternity store of all places, she whipped her head around to see one of the other Company dancers waving at her. "Lucy!" she called again.

"Oh, Juliet," Lucy greeted with little to no enthusiasm. "Hey..." She attempted to cover her belly with the pair of jeans in her hand as there was any hope she wouldn't notice and ask uncomfortable questions.

"I haven't seen you in forever!" Juliet declared. "The rumour around the Company was that you disappeared or something?" She seemed dubious about that (which was fair, given the trustworthiness of the Company rumour mill).

"Oh, I, umm..." she stammered, chewing at her lip, really not wanted to get into the events of the last few months, even if Juliet was a friend. Part of her worried about exactly what details were going to get churned out of the rumour mill and whether she'd ever be able to show her face there again.

Juliet approached as if to embrace Lucy, but stopped suddenly when she got close enough to see her burgeoning belly. "Oh... I didn't realize you were..." She paused, cleared her throat. "How far along are you?" she asked politely, though it was clear in her eyes that she was rather taken aback.

"Six months," Lucy answered, almost inaudible.

Clearly doing math in her head, Juliet plastered on a courteous smile. "Congratulations," she said. "I guess that means you won't be coming back to the stage any time soon?" She was a soloist who sometimes understudied Lucy's roles and, if Lucy wasn't mistaken, she could see the wheels turning in her head, working out whether a promotion might be in her future.

She shrugged. "For a few months at least," she agreed, though truly that was the least of her worries just then.

Emily joined them then, brows furrowing in concern as she realized that Lucy wasn't alone. "You must be starving," she said, giving Lucy an exit from the conversation should she want it.

Lucy nodded eagerly, all too happy to jump on the life raft she'd been tossed.

Taking the hint, Juliet said her goodbyes and wandered away, leaving Lucy standing there, unsure of what she should be feeling just then.

"Let's get something to eat," Emily gently encouraged, leading her away.

* * *

"I got you something," Emily said, trying not to let her eager smile burst forth.

"You didn't have to..." Lucy insisted, setting her fork down, not finding her salad particularly appetizing. "You've done so much for me already."

"Well, technically, it's for the baby," Emily amended, setting the little nondescript bag on the table. "Open it."

Lucy did as ordered, removing the tissue paper covering the purchase. Her breath stalled in her lungs as she pulled the little outfit from the bag.

"It's a little ballerina outfit," Emily said needlessly. "It even comes with tiny little ballet slippers."

Lucy fluffed the little glittering pink tutu attached to the onesie, tears filling her eyes. She looked up, caught Emily's eyes, giving her a watery smile.

"She's going to take after her Mama," Emily said. "She's got big pointe shoes to fill."

Lucy couldn't help but giggle softly then, even as an errant tear escaped. "What if she wants to chase down bad guys like her other Mama?"

"Well, who says she can't do that wearing a tutu?"


	23. Chapter 23

Part of Lucy's mind – one that she was reluctant to admit even existed – worried that, because she'd begged and pleaded with God not to let her get pregnant in the first place, something would happen to take her baby away from her.

And, no matter how many times her doctor told her that the baby was healthy and developing normally, she couldn't quite seem to believe it.

So, every afternoon, she drank a glass of juice and settled back on the couch to count the baby's movements. Emily, for her part, indulged this need, understanding where the fear was coming from. So, she became a part of the daily ritual by rubbing Lucy's feet while she counted.

(Ordinarily, Lucy didn't even want her to _look_ at her feet, considering the unattractive state they were constantly in, decorated as they were by bunions and blisters and callouses from being on pointe. But she was all too happy to indulge in the offered foot rubs lately.)

"What about Sage?" Lucy asked, hand wandering her belly, awaiting each kick and flutter.

Emily raised a brow. "I didn't realize we were having a flower child..." she teased.

"That's fair. In that case, I'm guessing you won't go for Rainbow?" she joked, her sense of humour slowly returning.

She laughed. "Rainbow Prentiss... I love it. Sounds like a Power Ranger."

There was a knock on the door then. The two women exchanged a look, unsure who was knocking, given that they weren't expecting anyone. The team was off on a case and they'd been making it a habit to call before coming over, out of respect for their need to reconnect as a couple and find their new normal.

Opening the door, Emily's brows knit in confusion. "Mother? What are you doing here? I wasn't expecting you..." She hadn't heard from her mother at all in the last seven months – not that that had surprised her, given the fact that she'd never been all that keen on her relationship with Lucy (or any woman for that matter) – so the fact that she was here now was unexpected to say the least.

"I was in the city," Elizabeth explained airily. "I heard about what happened to your wife and I wanted to..."

"Em, who is it?" Lucy called from the living room when too much time had passed.

Elizabeth raised a brow. "I was unaware that she had returned home."

Emily didn't debate her word choice, though 'returned' seemed to gloss over the magnitude of the trauma she'd endured to get there. "Why are you here, Mother?" Emily asked again, losing patience.

She breezed past Emily into the foyer without answering. At that same moment, Lucy came to see what was happening. Two two women caught sight of each other in the same moment, both coming to an abrupt halt.

Elizabeth whipped around to fix Emily with an unamused look. "Emily, what exactly is going on?"

For several moments, Emily didn't know how to respond. There was no way to explain this to her mother that wouldn't leave her morally outraged, though likely for all the wrong reasons.

"Mother, Lucy is pregnant," Emily said, in spite of it being obvious.

Elizabeth raised a brow. "Yes, I gathered that. The question is: _how_? Given your _living situation_ , this should be a biological impossibility."

Emily decided not to focus on the part where she'd described their marriage as a 'living situation' and instead decide on a palatable way to break the news. "Mother, Lucy was held prisoner for seven months, she's six months pregnant. I'm sure you can do the math."

A stunned silence. "And you're okay with this?" she demanded.

Lucy was obviously doing her best not to break down in the face of Elizabeth's judgement and Emily knew her grasp on her emotions was tenuous at best, given her hormones and obvious PTSD, without adding a disdainful mother-in-law into the mix.

"She's my wife, of course I'm _okay_ with it, we're having a baby," Emily insisted.

"'We'?" Elizabeth repeated doubtfully.

"Yes, _we_!" Emily snapped. "She's my _wife_!"

Elizabeth huffed. "Emily, I've put up with this charade long enough – I won't have you sacrifice your future for some sham marriage."

"Sham marriage?" Emily repeated. "You're one to talk – you clearly only married Dad because his family had money and standing. So don't you _dare_ talk to me about an honest marriage!"

"Are you honestly telling me you're going to raise some bastard as if it's your own?"

Emily narrowed her eyes, blood visibly boiling. "You need to leave."

"What?" she asked, stunned.

"I won't have you stand here and insult my wife, my marriage, and my daughter. I've never needed you in my life before and I certainly don't need you now."

"Emily, I..." she stammered, at a loss for words for possibly the first time in her life.

Emily waved away her excuses. "I don't care. You can go. Now, please."

The moment the door slammed shut behind Elizabeth, Lucy looked like she might throw up. Or her legs would give out from under her. Or both.

Emily was at her side instantly, gently easing her to sit on the nearby stairs. "Breathe, Ella, breathe," she coaxed.

Lucy let out a shaky breath. "She's right, you know..." she whispered.

She scoffed. "My mother hasn't been right about a single thing in her entire life."

"You don't have to stay," she continued. "I'm not going to hold you to anything you said, any promises you made. This isn't what you wanted, what _I_ wanted, so..." She shrugged helplessly.

"Enough," Emily said firmly. "I'm not leaving you and that's final. I don't want to hear any more of this doubt, okay? We're not about to let Ian Doyle or my mother or anything else ruin our marriage."

She gave a watery little laugh. "Fine. We'll stay married."

"Now," Emily said, "I believe we were in the middle of a very heated debate."

"We can continue said debate...on one condition."

Emily laughed. "Let me guess... You want that foot rub?"

"Good guess." She smiled fondly at her wife. "So, it's a no on Sage – what about Sadie?"

"I could live with Sadie," she agreed.

"You're not the one who has to live with it," Lucy pointed out.

"Touche. Well, let's ask her." She crawled over to Lucy's belly to ask, "Okay, Baby, how do you feel about being Sadie Prentiss?"

Lucy winced. "Oof. And that's my bladder. I'm going to say that's a no."

Emily kissed the swell of her stomach. "Troublemaker," she whispered. "Just like your Mama."

"I love you," Lucy insisted, "But if you don't let me up, I'm going to pee _everywhere_."


	24. Chapter 24

"Are you sure you want to do this?" JJ asked, skeptical. "You really don't have to..."

"We're sure," Emily insisted. When JJ still seemed dubious about it, Emily said, "I asked Lucy like twelve times and she says she wants to practice taking care of a kid. She was an only child, so she doesn't have a lot of practice looking after children."

JJ nodded. "It's not that I don't trust you," she emphasized. "It's just... He's such a nightmare lately. Apparently, they call this stage _threenager_ and it is _accurate_." She sighed. "I just don't want him to scare her about being a parent..."

"She's already terrified," she admitted. "I think she feels like if she can do this, then she won't be a failure at parenting." She shook her head sadly. Lucy had gone into the fertility treatments with so much hope and excitement over the prospect of being a mother, but Ian Doyle had taken that from her, leaving behind so much anxiety and doubt that Emily wasn't sure she'd ever fully recover.

JJ offered an apologetic expression. "How's therapy going?" she asked.

"Progress is slow," she said, "But she's gradually opening up. I think keeping a journal is really helping. We're going to try some EMDR in the next few weeks and the psychiatrist believes it will show promising results."

"That's great."

Lucy came down the stairs then. "Sorry that took so long," she apologized. "I dropped my toothbrush and had a lot of trouble picking it up."

JJ nodded her understanding, having been there before. "Just wait, it only gets more difficult," she said. "You should probably invest in some slip-on shoes now – there's only so many times you can ask someone to tie your shoes for you."

Henry, getting impatient, tired of all the grown up conversation, starting whining and squirming in JJ's arms. "Mooooooooommy," he complained.

Setting Henry down, she instructed the boy, "Say hi to Aunty Em and Aunty Lulu."

He waved at them with his pudgy toddler fingers. "Hi Emmy and Wulu," he echoed. He studied Lucy for a moment, head cocked inquisitively. "Mama said there a baby in there?" he asked, pointing at Lucy's belly.

She nodded, smiling down at the little boy as if pleading with him: _please like me_. "That's right. Just like you grew in your mommy's belly."

"Oh," he said, paused in thought. "How's it get out?"

Emily tried to stifle a giggle as Lucy blinked in surprise. "Oh, umm, maybe that's a question you should ask your mommy."

JJ rolled her eyes in a _gee, thanks_ manner. "There's a special doctor who helps," she explained. " _Anyway_... Mommy has to go, okay? You be a really good boy for your Aunties."

As soon as she was gone, Henry turned to them, extending one hand, balled in a little fist.

"What do you have there?" Emily asked, kneeling to be on his eye level.

"S'prise!" he declared, then opened his fist, where he'd apparently been concealing a cricket. The cricket, sensing an escape opportunity from the sweaty confines of his fist, took off. Henry squealed with glee.

* * *

"He looks like such a little angel," Emily whispered as they stared down at the sleeping boy where he'd passed out on the couch.

Lucy nodded. "Almost like he didn't just unleash a plague of locusts on our house..."

Emily attempted to stifle a laugh. "That's typical three year old behaviour, I think..."

Nodding again, tears started pooling in Lucy's eyes. "I know," she choked out. She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sounds of her crying.

Taken aback, Emily asked, "Why are you crying?"

"I'm going to be a terrible mother!" she wailed, then broke out in noisy sobs. Fat tears streaked down her cheeks.

Emily folded her into an embrace, rubbing her back and softly shushing her sobs. "You're going to be a wonderful mother," she insisted when her sobs started to subside. "Why would you ever think otherwise?"

" _Because_ ," she said pointedly. "I can barely take care of a three year old, how can I possibly take care of a newborn?"

"Oh, Lucy..."

"I'm serious!" she maintained. "I can't do this, I can't!"

Emily cupped Lucy's cheeks, forcing her to meet her eyes, to see how serious she was. "You are going to be _wonderful_ – you've put so much love and thought and care into taking care of this baby already. Yes, today has been a little _rough_ – and there will be rough days in the future – but that isn't a predictor of your success as a parent."

"But..." Lucy started to protest.

"Every parent goes through this," she promised. "When JJ had Henry, she said she cried at least once a day for his first month. Some of that was hormones, of course, but she said she felt scared and overwhelmed and inadequate for a long time. But she figured it out and you will too."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're smart and caring and intuitive and strong. You'll figure things out when the time comes," she said. "Besides, newborns really only need three things – to be fed, held, or changed. There's a reason they don't come out like three year olds... if they did, there would only be about ten people in the world," she joked.

That got a small smile out of her.

Thumb brushing over her bottom lip, glad to see her smile peeking out, Emily added, "Besides, we're having a little girl, I'm pretty sure they're easier. At least, until they're teenagers, then we'll be screwed." She leaned into capture a tender kiss.

Henry woke up then, bursting into tears when he realized he wasn't at home in his bed.

Lucy was instantly at his side, wrapping him in her arms as best she could around her belly. "It's okay," she soothed. "You're safe."

Henry wrapped his little arms around her neck as she gently rocked him, singing softly to him a song that Emily didn't recognize until the boy's tears faded into quiet hiccups. He nuzzled into her shoulder, looking for all the world like he belonged in her arms.

Emily just smiled, shook her head, wondering how Lucy could possibly doubt that she was going to be a fantastic mother.


	25. Chapter 25

"Do I have to wear this?" Emily asked. She held the very unEmily-esque dress up to herself as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. She glanced over her shoulder to fix Lucy with a decidedly displeased expression.

"This was your idea," Lucy reminded her. "And Garcia said it's mandatory to wear pink." She wore a similar shade of pink, though in the form of a sweater dress that stretched accommodatingly over her belly.

Emily pouted. "But there's a reason I don't own anything pink. You're the cute girly on in this relationship, I'm the sullen goth one."

"It could be worse, Em, it's not a tutu."

She had to admit Lucy was right because she did, in fact, own several tutus and a number of tulle skirts that had the same effect. "But it's pink and a dress," Emily insisted.

Lucy continued to stare insistently, her expression clearly reading something along the lines of _If I have to give birth, you can wear a pink dress for a few hours_...

Emily sighed, shucked off her robe to pull the dress on over her head. "But I'll wear it for our baby girl," she conceded reluctantly.

Lucy zipped the dress for her, then turned her around and kissed her. "I appreciate the sacrifice."

"But for future reference, Garcia is not allowed to plan our next baby shower."

" _Next_ baby shower?" Lucy asked, voice higher pitched than she'd intended it to be.

Emily's cheeks pinked a little. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to put any pressure on you. I've just been thinking about the future and how badly I want the whole family experience with you. All of it."

Lucy smiled shyly, cleared her throat. "Can we put a pin in that? 'Cause we're going to be late and I'm kind of bringing the guest of honour."

* * *

Lucy, needing a break from all the festivities and attention – and to rest her swollen feet – had found temporary solitude in Rossi's living room.

She was in the middle of rubbing her painfully inflamed bunion (and regretting not taking JJ's advice about shoes) when Henry wandered into the room. She offered the boy a smile (only remotely bitter about the incident with the cricket).

"Whatcha doing?" he asked, eyeing her curiously.

"Just resting my feet," she said.

He nodded solemnly as if he understood, then joined her on the couch, slipping off his little runners. "Me too," he declared seriously. For a few moments, he watched her studiously, then asked, "What's Baby doin' in there?"

"It's kind of like a swimming pool," Lucy tried to explain in a way the boy would understand. "She just kind of floats there. Sometimes she kicks." That seemed to perk his interest, so she asked, "Do you want to try to feel her kicking?"

He came closer, resting his little hands on her stomach. "Hi, Baby!" he shouted at her belly.

* * *

There was a gentle tugging on the hem of Emily's dress. She glanced down to find Henry trying to get her attention. "Hi, Buddy," she greeted, ruffling the boy's hair.

"Henry, the grown ups are talking," JJ told the boy. "Why don't you go play with Jack?" She gestured towards where Reid was entertaining the other young boy with magic tricks.

Ignoring his mother, he gestured for Emily to lean in to receive a secret. "Aunty Wulu sick," he whispered in her ear.

She offered a faint smile in appreciation. "Thank you for helping, Buddy. You did a very good job." She was trying not to frighten him, even though she was gripped by fear that something was seriously wrong.

Retracing the boy's steps, Emily found Lucy clutching her side, looking rather frightened. Kneeling down, Emily caught her gaze, stroked her cheek tenderly. "Are you okay? Henry said you're sick..."

"I think I might've ruined Rossi's couch," she whispered.

For a moment, Emily looked confused. Then, she followed Lucy's gaze as it dipped down to the blood soaking her dress. "Okay," she soothed, "Okay. You're both going to be fine. But let's get you to the hospital."

She shook her head once, twice. "I _can't_ ," she insisted. "I can't go to the hospital, I already know what they're going to say..."

"No," Emily said vehemently. "No, Lucy, we are _not_ losing this baby. She's going to be just fine. We have to go to the hospital, though."

"This is just the universe setting things right," Lucy said, voice trembling. "This is because I wished I would miscarry, that I wouldn't get pregnant at all. I _deserve_ this."

"The universe doesn't work that way," she insisted. "There's no one keeping score."

"Well, maybe someone should be because obviously I wasn't meant to have this baby!"

Emily pulled her to stand. "If that's the case, then I'll have to hear it from about three different doctors because I don't believe anyone is trying to punish you for something you thought while you were a hostage."

"But what if..." she started.

"No," Emily interrupted, "No 'what if's'. We are having a healthy happy baby three months from now." She squeezed her hand tightly. "Now, let's go to the hospital to make sure, okay?"

* * *

Emily sat on the edge of Lucy's hospital bed, gently stroking her hair away from her face. "Do you really think you don't deserve this baby because of what happened when you were a hostage?"

Lucy sighed. "I don't know," she admitted, "I love her and I _do_ want her...but for six months, it felt like the universe was punishing me by giving me a baby I didn't want. And part of me knew that at the end, he was going to take the baby away and part of me wanted that so I didn't have to face being a mother to this baby I'd unwillingly created." She blinked back tears. "That sounds awful, doesn't it?"

"I understand," Emily murmured, kissing the back of her hand. "When we decided to try for a baby, part of me worried that because of what happened when I was fifteen, that I didn't deserve to have a healthy baby. That because I chose not to have one then, that I shouldn't get to have one now. But that's not the way the universe works. I promise."

"How can you be so sure?" Lucy asked desperately. "You see so many bad things happen every day, how can you truly believe the universe is a fair place, a _good_ place?"

"Because," she said simply. "I see the good things too. I see the good when I can reunite a missing child with their parents. I see the good when I can give answers to a desperate loved one, even if they aren't happy answers. I see the good in _you_ because you are my whole world and everyday I am amazed by how incredibly lucky I am to have you."


	26. Chapter 26

The doctors released Lucy from the hospital and placed her on bed rest once the bleeding was under control and the baby appeared not to be in any kind of distress. She would require more intensive monitoring, though, and possibly shots of corticosteriods to encourage the baby's lung development should they have to deliver early.

She wasn't entirely certain how she felt about being on bed rest – on the one hand, she was eager to do whatever she could to keep the baby healthy, but on the other hand, she was a professional athlete, used to being active and moving constantly.

Even more, she hated the fact that Emily had to stay home to help her. She insisted that she didn't mind taking the time off work, that she wanted to be as involved in the pregnancy as possible, but that didn't stop the swell of guilt she felt every time she overheard Emily teleconferencing on a case rather than being there in person.

She knew that the team was rallying around her and Emily, though, and that at least was a comforting thought.

On that particular day, cabin fever had started to set in. She'd spent the better part of the morning reading about childbirth, but the more she'd read, the more she'd freaked herself out and for the sake of her sanity, she'd had to distract herself.

Thankfully, Garcia had taken it upon herself to buy a bunch of craft kits and bring them over so Lucy would have something to do with her time. (In spite of her extensive ballet training, Lucy had never really considered herself to be artistically inclined...)

Emily poked her head into the bedroom to check on Lucy. She frowned, raised a brow. "Do I want to ask?" she said, in reference to the tangle of thread that had overtaken the bed.

"I was attempting that cross-stitching thing that Garcia gave me," she explained, holding up her hands in what appeared to be a very complicated game of Cat's Cradle. "I don't think I'm doing it right..."

Emily was clearly trying not to laugh. "I'm sure you tried your best," she said in condolence.

With a sigh, Lucy tossed the craft aside.

"Why don't I run you a bath?" Emily suggested, sensing that she really needed to relax in that moment.

She thought for a moment. "Will you join me?" she asked softly.

Emily seemed taken aback for several moments. Since she'd been rescued, Lucy had been extremely shy...she was reluctant to even change her clothes in front of her. It was obvious to Emily that it was about more than just being self-conscious about her changing body. "If that's what you want," she agreed.

"It is." She smiled shyly, but it was enough that Emily believed her.

* * *

Lucy leaned back against Emily's chest as the warm water of the bath lapped at her belly. Emily rested her chin on Lucy's shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to her neck. Her hand stroked along the swell of Lucy's belly, catching the occasional movement beneath her palm. Though she wasn't about to say it – at the risk of making Lucy feel guilty for emotional trauma she had no control over – she'd really missed this kind of intimacy.

"JJ suggested that we start thinking about a birth plan," she spoke up eventually, reluctant though she was to break the comfortable silence. "She said to make a list of what we want in an ideal situation, but also wishes in case things don't go as planned..."

Lucy nodded slowly, thoughtfully. She was silent for a long time and Emily couldn't see her face to read her expression. "I _need_ to have a natural birth," she murmured at length, hating how rigid and controlling that made her sound, but needing to express her needs all the same.

Her emphasis puzzled Emily. "Why?" she asked gently.

"I, umm..." She paused, raked her teeth across her bottom lip as she tried to find a way to explain how she felt. "I'm afraid that if I'm confined to the bed, it's going to feel like... Like I'm back _there_ , with _him_."

Understanding dawned on Emily, but she didn't speak just yet, letting Lucy open up at her own pace. Like she did with victims, though she hated to think of Lucy that way.

"I'm so afraid of feeling like I don't have control," Lucy admitted. "For six months, I had _no_ control over anything that happened to me... And I know how unpredictable birth can be and that's kind of really terrifying right now."

"I understand," she agreed. "And we'll talk to your OB about that, make sure she understands."

"What if she's not on-call, though? What if it's some complete stranger that shows up when I go into labour?"

That was a distinct possibility, Emily knew. "I know you're really hoping for a natural birth, but maybe we should consider letting them induce you, so you know you'll get your doctor?" she suggested. "It doesn't even have to be with drugs, we can try to induce you naturally, even if there's no guarantee."

Lucy didn't seem too keen on that, though. "I don't want to be confined to the bed," she repeated. "I don't want any reminders of _him_ on our daughter's birthday. And I'm afraid that if I can't move around, it will bring back all these memories of being restrained while he...you know..."

"We'll talk to your doctor," Emily repeated. "An IV shouldn't prevent you from getting out of bed." (God knew she'd been hospitalized enough times after being injured on the job to know the limitations of an IV...) "I've even heard of 'walking epidurals'," she continued. "I don't know if you can actually _walk_ with it, but I'm sure it's _better_." She leaned down to kiss Lucy's shoulder. "We're going to figure this out, okay? We're going to bring a beautiful healthy happy little girl into the world and it's going to be one of the best days of our lives."

"You really think so?"

"I know so."


	27. Chapter 27

"Can you run to the store?" Lucy asked, waddling into the living room where Emily was going over some paperwork from the last case she'd consulted on. "We're out of blueberries. And bananas." She flopped down on the couch next to her, even though it had taken a Herculean effort to stand up in the first place...

"Are you sure you don't have a little monkey in there?" Emily teased, moving to rub her belly and steal a kiss. "You eat more bananas than anyone I've ever met."

She shrugged. "Your little monkey is growing," she said seriously. As an afterthought, she added, "Oh, and if you're at the store anyway, I need peanut butter. And Oreos."

"Anything you need," she promised with a little laugh at her newest cravings.

Lucy grinned brightly. "You're the best!"

* * *

When she returned home, Emily found the house quiet. "Lucy?" she called out. "Is everything alright?"

"In here!" she called back, voice carrying from the direction of the nursery.

Emily followed her voice, nearly running into her as she emerged, quickly shutting the door behind her before Emily could get a look inside. Raising a brow, she asked, "What are you hiding?"

"Close your eyes," Lucy said by way of answering. "Please?"

She did as asked, then heard the door creak open. Hands gentle on her shoulders, Lucy guided her into the room.

"Okay, open them..."

When her eyes fluttered open, it took Emily a moment to realize what she was looking at.

"Happy Birthday," Lucy declared. It was obvious she was nervous about Emily's reaction.

"Is this...?"

She cleared her throat, offered a shaky, albeit hopeful smile. "We don't have to use it if you don't like it..."

Mouth hanging open slightly, Emily stared at Lucy's hard work. She'd painstakingly painted and decorated a series of wooden letters and hung them from ribbons above the baby's crib.

At her prolonged silence, Lucy said, "You hate it, don't you?"

"Lucy, it's beautiful," Emily insisted. "I can't believe you did this – you always say you're not artistic, but these letters are gorgeous!"

She shrugged. "Well, it's just gluing things to a piece of wood..."

"I love them." She wrapped her arms around Lucy, kissed her.

"You're okay with the name?"

"It's the perfect name," she agreed. "How did you pick it?"

She smiled shyly. "Remember the day we met?"

"Of course – you danced so beautifully on stage, but you were breath-taking when it was just the two of us dancing..." she reminisced.

Lucy blushed slightly. "We met because of The Nutcracker, so I figured it was only fitting to name our daughter after the main character."

"Clara Prentiss," she murmured. "It's beautiful."

Her face lit up in a smile, having earned her wife's approval. "I thought you could pick out the middle name. But first, I made you a cake. I know it's not much of a celebration, but I wanted to do something special, just the two of us, and this is all I could manage on bed rest."

"It's the best birthday I've ever had." She leaned in to capture her lips in a tender kiss. Then, lips ghosting over hers, she asked, "Is the cake chocolate?"

Lucy giggled. "Of course. With chocolate icing. Your favourite."

"Best birthday ever," she repeated.

* * *

Emily and Lucy lay curled up together in bed, Lucy nuzzling Emily's neck. "I... I actually have one more little gift for you," she murmured.

"You don't have to do anything else," Emily insisted. "You've already made this birthday so special."

"No, I really want to do this..." she said softly, a little unsure.

Brushing her nose against Lucy's, she asked, "What is it?"

With a fortifying breath, Lucy whispered, "I want to have sex..."

"What? Are... Are you sure?" she asked. "I know you went through a lot and I don't want to pressure you or..."

Lucy captured her lips in a soft kiss. "I'm sure."

"I love you so much," Emily said, letting her lips travel along her jaw line. Her hand slipped under her shirt, moving to cup her breast, thumb ghosting across her nipple.

"Oh, Emily..." she breathed, eyes fluttering shut. She reached down to slip her hand into Emily's panties, but before she could find her target, Emily caught her wrist, halting her progress.

"This is about you tonight," she said. Pulling the T-shirt over Lucy's head, she leaned down to capture one nipple between her lips.

Lucy gasped, arching her back. Emily scraped her teeth across the delicate bud, the hormones flooding Lucy's system making her extra sensitive.

"You're so beautiful," Emily said, lips brushing her skin on the way down her body. "Gorgeous. _Sexy_..."

Blushing, Lucy rasped, " _Emily_..."

Kissing the swell of her belly, Emily hummed her appreciation of Lucy's pleas. She tugged her panties down, biting her lip at the sight of her soaked pussy, eager and waiting. "if you say stop, I'll stop..." she promised.

"Please, Em..." she encouraged. She bucked sharply as Emily's tongue hit her clit. She writhed, moaned.

Dragging her tongue through her folds, she lapped at her juices, smirking as she so easily reduced her wife to a needy mess, remembering what she liked. "Cum for me," she coaxed. She brought her thumb up to rub her clit while she worked her with her tongue until, with a mewl and a cry of her name, she came.

Emily crawled back up her body to wrap her arms around Lucy's still trembling form. Once she'd come down from her high, she offered Emily a smile and a gentle kiss.

For a long time, they lay in a comfortable silence together, just enjoying the familiar comforts of being in each other's arms, basking in the afterglow.

Emily spoke up first, murmuring, "I think her middle name is Noelle."

"You want her to have my middle name?" Lucy asked, sounding perhaps a little skeptical of the decision.

"Clara Noelle," Emily repeated. "I think it's perfect. She'll be a December baby and, undoubtedly, a Mama's girl."

Her smile was shy in response. "I think it's beautiful. But the next one we're naming after you..."

"Poor kid," Emily joked.

" _Lucky_ kid," Lucy corrected.


	28. Chapter 28

"Just think..." Emily mused, "A year from now, we'll have an actual baby of our own to dress up and take trick-or-treating."

"Is _this_ the reason you wanted to have a baby?" Lucy teased. She wound Emily's hair into a perfect bun on top of her head, then fastened the tiara around it. "You needed someone who would enjoy Halloween as much as you. And whose candy you could steal?"

She shrugged, smirked. "Maybe. Is that a problem?"

"Not at all. You know I hate being scared – hopefully she grows up to be all spooky like you," she replied. She rested her hands on Emily's shoulder, smiling at their reflection in the mirror.

"Spooky?" Emily echoed, brow arching. "Did you just call your wife _spooky_?"

She winked to show she was only teasing. "You're basically Morticia Addams in Kevlar..."

Emily gave a snort of laughter. "That's true," she agreed. "But I have a feeling she's going to take after her Mama and be a little ballet baby."

"So, what's the first costume you'll dress her in?" Lucy asked. Having put the finishing touches on Emily's costume, she shut herself in the bathroom to finish getting dressed.

She thought for a moment. "I think a cute little Dorothy costume would be adorable. Besides, you're already basically Glinda the Good Witch..."

"Does that make you the Wicked Witch of the West?" she called through the crack in the door.

"Rude." She smiled, shook her head, even though Lucy couldn't see. "Are you _sure_ you're committed to this costume choice?"

"I'm pregnant and fat, I am _committed_ to the onesie," Lucy insisted. She emerged from the bathroom, pulling the hood up over her head.

Emily fixed her with a serious look. "Pregnant and fat are not the same thing."

"I can be both," she maintained. "Have you seen me waddle lately?"

"Ella, you're _gorgeous_. I'd take the time to show you that I really believe that...but JJ is going to swing by with Henry any minute now."

She grinned, blushing. " _Anyway_...I like the Eeyore onesie and I'm wearing it." At Emily's continued pleading expression, she sighed. "But maybe I'll let you take it off me afterwards."

Emily pulled her in for a kiss. "Promise?" She kissed her again, deeper this time. Her hands wandered along Lucy's hip, promising mischief.

They were interrupted by a little knock on the door, followed by a voice bellowing, "Trick-a-teet!"

"Damn that kid's timing..." Emily muttered under her breath.

Lucy giggled. "Better answer it before he eggs the place..."

Emily threw open the door to find Henry standing there in his little Spiderman costume, holding out his pillowcase awaiting candy. "Well, if it isn't the cutest superhero I've ever seen!" she declared.

Henry pulled off his mask. "Emmy, it's me!"

She gasped as if shocked. "Henry!? I thought you were Spiderman!"

He giggled. "It's just a costume. What's yours?"

"I'm a ballerina," she said, doubting the young boy would get the joke. The original plan was that Lucy was going to dress as an agent, but she'd changed her mind when her pants wouldn't button.

"Hey, Spiderman," Lucy greeted, entering the room with the bowl of candy.

"Eeyore!" he trilled. "Trick-a-teet!"

She dropped a handful of candy into his pillowcase, then ruffled his hair.

* * *

"How can you watch this!?" Lucy squeaked from where she'd burrowed her face into Emily's neck as on-screen, some monster hacked co-eds to bits. "You see this kind of thing everyday in your real life, what makes it _fun_ to see in fiction?"

"Why did _you_ agree to watch it?" Emily replied. She had a hand resting on Lucy's belly, as she often did of late, enjoying the feeling of closeness to her soon-to-be-born child. "You hate these movies..."

"I wanted to cuddle," she admitted with a shrug and a pout.

Emily laughed softly. "You could have just asked, you know? I've never denied you before and I'm certainly not about to now..."

"I didn't want to seem needy," she admitted in a mumble.

Nuzzling the top of her head and pressing a kiss there, she replied, "You're allowed to be needy, you're seven and a half months pregnant." She seemed about to argue with that, but Emily didn't give her the chance. "In just a few short weeks, you'll have a little baby in your arms who depends on you for every little thing. You'll be so busy taking care of her that you'll miss this time when you're waited on hand and foot..."

She couldn't seem to find an argument for that logic. She lay down so that her head was in Emily's lap and Emily took that as an invitation to stroke her hair. Eyes falling shut, soothed by the tender ministrations, Lucy asked, "Do you remember what you said the day of the baby shower?"

"About wanting more kids?" she asked, knowing immediately what she was referencing. "I'm sorry if that seemed like I was pressuring you, I know..."

"Do you really want another one?" Lucy asked, interrupting.

She shrugged, even though Lucy couldn't see it. "I always imagined at least two," she said. "But that was before everything happened and..."

Lucy cut off her rambling once again, "Boy or girl? For the next one, I mean..."

Emily let out a little laugh. "Well, everyone says the BAU is cursed to have only sons," she said. "We'll have the first daughter I think since the unit was founded..."

"I'm the testosterone antidote?" she asked with a giggle. "Well, maybe you can have the next one if we want a son..."

"But you look so cute when you're pregnant..." she said. "Even when you insist upon wearing a onesie." As if to punctuate her statement, she let her hand wander along Lucy's side until she could cup her breast.

Lucy let out a little whimper. "What about the movie?" she asked, breath hitching as she teased her nipple through the fabric.

"What movie?" Emily replied, her hand slipping down to find the zipper and slowly unzipping the onesie to expose the thin tank top underneath.


	29. Chapter 29

Lucy was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the nursery, folding baby clothes and sorting them into piles. Emily had _tried_ to help, but Lucy had insisted that she was doing it 'wrong' and had banished her from assisting. (She tried not to take it personally, knowing Lucy was just nesting.)

From her spot in the rocking chair, Emily said, "So, Thanksgiving is coming up – Morgan invited us to come spend the day with him and his family who are flying in from Chicago. They're the sweetest people you'll ever meet...though, his mother might spend the whole time paying attention to your belly since she's constantly bugging Morgan to give her grandbabies."

Lucy glanced down at the onesie she was folding, then said the last thing Emily expected to hear, "I think we should invite your mother for dinner."

Emily nearly choked on an inhale. "I must've had a stroke because I could've sworn you just suggested we spend time with my mother."

"I did," she said simply.

" _My_ mother?" she asked. "Elizabeth Prentiss? Really?"

"Yes."

Emily blinked a few times in stunned silence. "Okay, I'll bite... Why exactly would we do that?"

Lucy glanced down at the floor for a few moments, trying to decide the best way to word her thought process. "Growing up, it was just me and my father. He was the only family I had. I'm not complaining, mind you, I had a wonderful childhood. But I always kind of wished I had something more, a deeper connection to family. Especially after he died...

"We have the chance to give Clara that something more – I know she'll always have people who care about her, but it's not the same as having that blood connection, that knowing where you came from." She shrugged. "Maybe that doesn't make sense, but..."

Emily nodded slowly, chewing her lip in thought.

When her silence extended on longer than was comfortable, Lucy said softly, "But you know her better than I do and if you think it's better that she not be a part of her life, I'll believe you."

"I think you're right," Emily admitted at length. "It's worth giving her one more chance. For Clara."

* * *

"Hello, Emily," Elizabeth greeted, perhaps a little frostily. "I have to say, I wasn't expecting your call..."

Emily stood back to let her into the house. "Yes, well...you'll have to thank Lucy for that. She's more forgiving than I am." Her words and her expression were both decidedly pointed.

Lucy waddled into the foyer, drying her hands on her apron, wearing a tight but hopeful smile. She had no idea what to expect from this attempt to extend the olive branch as her past interactions with her mother-in-law had never been exceedingly warm and fuzzy, but for reasons she couldn't exactly explain, she was desperate to try and set things right. "Hello, Elizabeth," she greeted, looking like she'd like to offer an embrace, but holding back knowing that it wouldn't be accepted. "Happy Thanksgiving. I hope you're hungry."

"Lucy has been cooking all day," Emily explained with a fond smile at her wife. "So, it's safe to eat – she didn't let me help at all."

"Oh, I can't stay long," Elizabeth said with a dismissive wave. "I just came by to drop off this gift for the baby."

Lucy's face fell. "Oh. Umm...that's okay." She swallowed thickly. "I have to go...check a thing." She made a hasty return to the kitchen, audibly sniffling.

Emily waited until she was out of earshot, then rounded on her mother. "You know, you're a real piece of work. She tried _so_ hard to make today perfect because all she wants is for our daughter to have a grandmother and you don't even care."

"It's not my granddaughter," Elizabeth pointed out as if Emily weren't already extremely aware of her lack of genetic connection to the child.

"You know what? This was a mistake."

"Excuse me?" Elizabeth said, brow arching up her forehead in indignation.

"Lucy wanted to give you another chance and I went along with it because I wanted to believe you could change in spite of years of proof to the contrary, but I was right all along – you're too damn selfish to ever change."

Elizabeth scoffed. "You cannot seriously tell me that it doesn't bother you that..."

"No, it doesn't!" Emily interrupted, vehement. "Not for a single second because that's my wife and if she wants that baby, I'll love it with my whole heart because that is what a mother does. Not that you'd know, not once in my whole life having shown me that same affection..."

"So, what exactly is it you want from me?"

"Nothing," Emily said plainly. She shrugged emptily to show the vastness of her indifference. "Lucy thought that you might want to know our daughter, but clearly the only person you care about is yourself. It's fine. You can go."

For a long moment, there was an uncomfortable silence, Emily staring at her as if waiting for her to break and admit that she was everything Emily had said.

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth said quietly, almost sounding ashamed.

Emily raised a brow, doubtful.

"I want to do better," Elizabeth insisted. "And if it means that much to you, I'll be a grandmother."

She shook her head, clearly not interested in anything more her mother had to say. "Don't do me any favours, Mother."

"Before you make any decisions, open the gift," Elizabeth insisted, handing Emily the plain paper package she'd brought with her.

Emily raised a brow as she took the proffered gift, but peeled back the paper nonetheless. In spite of her best efforts to remain stoic, she couldn't help but let out a small gasp as she revealed the contents: the knit baby blanket her great-grandmother had made for Emily when she was born.

When Emily didn't comment, Elizabeth explained, "I kept it in case you ever decided you wanted to have children. I thought that you should have it now."

Emily nodded, but said nothing. It didn't prove anything.


	30. Chapter 30

Declan burst in the front door, throwing his arms around Emily. "Merry Christmas," he greeted her with a playful smile, in spite of the fact that it was only December fifteenth.

She ruffled his hair, in spite of the fact that he was a teenager and almost taller than her. "Merry Christmas, Dec," she echoed.

"Where's Lucy?" he asked with something like hesitation in his voice.

Tom had dropped him off for a visit before the two left for their annual European Christmas trip, so that he could visit with Emily and, hopefully, reconcile the idea of becoming a brother. According to the email conversations Emily had been having with Tom, the boy was reluctant to speak about the subject...

"In the living room," she answered, nodding her head in the direction of the soft strains of Christmas music spilling out of the sitting area. In a conspiratorial whisper, she added, "It takes her a long time to stand up..."

With a little laugh, he followed her into the living room where Lucy was settled on the floor, wrapping presents. "Hi, Lucy," he greeted with a half-hearted wave. He still seemed a little unsure about how to interact with her.

"Hi, Declan," Lucy said brightly. "I'd stand up to hug you, but we don't have all day."

"How... How are you feeling?" he asked, a little awkwardly.

"Ready for her to be here," she admitted. "What about you? Are you ready to be a big brother?"

He shrugged.

"I know it's probably kind of weird for you, but we want you to spend as much time as you want with her – you can be here for holidays and birthdays, summer break...as much as you like."

He shrugged again. It was obvious he was unsure, uncomfortable.

Emily changed the subject. "Where are you and Tom headed for your Christmas break?" she asked.

"Switzerland," he replied. "Skiing. I guess I won't be there to meet the baby when she comes..."

Emily and Lucy shared a significant look. "I need to use the bathroom," Lucy said suddenly, struggling to stand so that she could give the two a moment alone.

Once the bathroom door clicked shut behind her, Emily said softly, "It's okay, you know? To feel unhappy or uncomfortable or even angry about the baby..."

"I don't," he mumbled, not quite meeting her eyes.

"And it's okay to feel those things about Lucy too..."

He heaved an uneager sigh. "He wasn't much, but he was my dad," he admitted. "And I know he wasn't a good person, but when I see her with, you know...it's like being reminded of that. I guess it just feels like he chose _that_ over me..."

"Declan, no," she murmured. "Your father loved you, but there was something wrong in his brain that made him do bad things."

"You mean, he was a psychopath..."

Emily sighed. "Yes. But he loved you the best he could."

He stared down at his hands. "But what if I'm like him?" he whispered.

"That's never going to happen," she promised. "You're _nothing_ like him."

"Are you sure?" he whispered.

"Absolutely. And whether or not you want to be a part of the baby's life, you'll always _always_ be her family. And ours," she vowed. Then, she folded him into a gentle embrace.

At that moment, Lucy waddled back into the room. "I'm tired of being pregnant, she groaned, "Just peeing is such a chore, I might as well just live in the bathroom."

Emily laughed, stood to rub Lucy's belly. "Just a little longer."

As she settled back on the couch, Lucy said to Declan, "We got you a gift – it's okay if you don't want it, though..." She passed him the wrapped parcel.

He unwrapped the gift slowly, as if unsure what to expect. Inside the box was a new camera, a journal, and a box of stationary.

"It's okay if you don't like it," Lucy said again. "We thought that maybe you might like to keep a scrapbook of your travels and what your life is like and one day you can share it with your sister. And the stationary is in case you want to write her letters," she rambled as if afraid of his reaction.

"You really think she'll want to know about stuff like that?" he asked.

"Of course," Emily insisted. "You're going to inspire her, motivate her, you're going to teach her – good things and bad. She's going to live her whole life trying to make her big brother proud. And when the day comes that she wants to know about her father, you'll be there for that too."

After a moment in which he was clearly digesting the idea of what it meant to be a brother, Declan wrapped first Emily, then Lucy in warm embraces. Then, with a hint of trepidation, he briefly rested a hand on Lucy's belly. It was clear from Emily's gaze – glittering with the hint of tears – that this was the moment she'd been hoping for.

Waiting for the moment to pass, Lucy spoke up, "As beautiful and touching as this moment is... Would you mind terribly taking me to the hospital?" She was trying to keep her voice light and cheerful, but there was obvious pain written in her features.

Brows knitting with concern, Emily moved to feel her belly. "Your stomach is rock hard," she said, frowning. "Why didn't you say you were having contractions?"

"Because I still have two weeks...and I need those two weeks," she said, wincing through the contraction. She'd been counting on having every last second to fully come to terms with being a mother to the mixed blessing that was this baby...

"Well, your water hasn't broken – that's a good sign," Emily assured her. She smoothed the hair away from Lucy's face where it had escaped from her messy braid.

"Actually..." she said slowly, apologetically.

She raised a brow, fixing her with a look she might use on a naughty child. "When?"

She shrugged, stared at the floor with guilt on her face. "When I was in the bathroom earlier," she admitted in a mumble. "I had my bloody show," she added, trying not to gross out Declan by using technical terms.

"Okay," Emily said, more to herself than to Lucy. "Okay, well, I guess we'll be meeting our daughter a little earlier than anticipated." She paused to drop an affectionate kiss to Lucy's forehead. Then, turning to Declan, she said, "Well, it looks like you'll get to meet your sister afterall."


	31. Chapter 31

Emily had left briefly to check on Declan in the waiting room and when she returned, Lucy was out of bed and using the squat bar as a ballet barre. One brow raised, she watched for a few moments before asking, "Do I want to know?"

Lucy glanced at Emily over her shoulder. "Squatting helps engage the baby in the pelvis," she informed her matter-of-factly.

She nodded, approached closer. "That doesn't explain the ballet," she pointed out.

"Plies are squats," she replied, lowering into a plie in second.

She couldn't argue with that. (Not that she was about to argue with anything Lucy said, given the fact that she was in labour and she didn't want to be kicked out of the delivery room...)

Lucy had read something about creating a comforting and familiar environment in the delivery room and, though it sounded perhaps a little strange to her, Emily had gone along with her wishes. They'd set up flickering LED candles for ambiance with some of Lucy's favourite ballet music playing in the background and, beside the bed they'd created a little shrine of significant objects: a little angel to represent the baby Emily hadn't been able to have, Lucy's first pair of pointe shoes for luck, and the little ballet slippers Emily had bought for the baby, among other things.

"How do you feel?" Emily asked, setting the cup of ice chips she'd collected on her way back on the bedside table.

"I feel okay," she murmured, smiled softly. "I feel good. Labour doesn't seem so bad..."

* * *

Lucy's upbeat attitude didn't last for long, though... Her relatively short and mild early labour gave way to an intense and excruciating active labour.

"I think I'm going to be sick," she sobbed, dry-heaving.

Emily gently rubbed up and down her back, softly shushing her. "If you need to throw up, go ahead," she murmured.

She heaved again. "I don't want you to have to watch me puke..."

Trying not to laugh at the irony, considering the rest of what she was about to watch, she soothed, "Ella, this is the process of our child coming into the world, I'm going to be here for every moment of it."

Lucy gave a watery smile, leaned in as if for a kiss, then turned away and reached for the vomit basin.

Emily had been around enough rotting corpses and grisly murder scenes that a little vomit didn't bother her, but seeing her wife so miserable was significantly more difficult to watch.

"This _sucks_ ," Lucy moaned after having emptied her stomach.

"I know," Emily agreed, smoothing away the stray hairs stuck to her sweaty face. "Just remember Clara, okay? Every contraction brings her closer to our arms."

"For Clara," she echoed breathlessly.

Emily climbed behind her on the bed, letting Lucy lean back against her chest. "She's going to be so beautiful and so smart and so talented," she assured her, "And we're going to love her _so_ much."

She nodded, wincing, gripping at her belly. "I'd like her better if she'd just hurry up and get here," she grumbled, (mostly) kidding.

"I know," Emily said, kneading her shoulders. "I wish I could take the pain away." She wanted to suggest she reconsider the epidural, but knew how important it was that she felt in control, so she didn't push the matter. "Why don't you get in the tub?" she suggested, "The nurses said it can help speed labour..."

* * *

It _did_ , in fact, speed her labour.

So much so that after a half hour, she was feeling the urge to push.

Still dripping wet from being in the tub with her and not having bothered to pause long enough to grab a towel – Emily ran to push the call button for the nurses, then was back at Lucy's side, trying to help her out of the tub. "Clara's coming, Ella," she murmured, trying to be encouraging, "She's almost here..."

In response, Lucy let out a low pained moan, shook her head insistently. "She's coming _now_ ," she said. She was in too much pain to climb over the lip of the tub, pushing Emily's hands away as she tried to help her.

"Are you sure?" Emily asked.

She reached between her legs, feeling the head already crowning. She nodded, vehement in her urgency.

"Okay," Emily said, more to herself than to Lucy, "Okay..." She felt worse than useless in that moment – they'd taken a childbirth class, but never having been through the actual experience herself, she felt completely helpless.

"I have to push," she insisted. "You have to catch her..."

"Lucy, I can't – I don't know..."

"You _have_ to!" she repeated. She'd propped herself up on her elbows on the edge of the tub and was kneeling so that the baby wouldn't fall into the water.

Reluctant though she was, Emily knew that until the nurses got there, she had no choice, so she readied herself to catch her daughter.

It only took three pushes for the baby to slide out into her hands and, for the briefest of moments, there was dead silence, the two women waiting with bated breath for the baby to start crying. When no sound came, Lucy let out a heavy sob.

The nurses rushed into the room at that moment and were about to take the baby when she started mewling, then wailing and as one, Lucy and Emily both released the breath they'd been holding. Unable to support herself any longer, Lucy settled back in the warm water and Emily placed the squirming baby on her chest.

The baby bobbed her little head about until she found Lucy's breast and latched on to suckle greedily.

"You did it," she murmured to her wife, "Look at our daughter – our beautiful little Clara Noelle." She leaned in to capture Lucy's lips in a tender kiss. "I'm so proud of you."

Sniffling back tears of joy, Lucy cupped Emily's cheek, brought her in for another kiss. "We're parents now..." she said with a little disbelieving laugh. "We have a _baby_."

"We're a family," she agreed.


	32. Chapter 32

Emily lead Declan to the recovery room where Lucy was waiting to introduce him to his baby sister. "Are you nervous?" Emily asked him as they paused outside the door.

"No," he insisted, though he did look a little hesitant. "I'm ready now – she's my sister."

"Clara, look who it is!" Lucy cooed to the baby as the door opened. "It's your big brother!"

Declan moved as if to wave, but stopped himself, realizing the baby couldn't see it. "How is she?" he asked.

"Perfect," Emily answered, smiling at the pair. "A healthy six pounds, eleven ounces – small, but strong." She moved to take the baby in her arms. "Do you want to hold her?" she offered.

He hesitated. "I've never held a baby before..."

She smiled softly at him. "It's okay. Sit," she instructed gently, nodding to the nearby chair. Once he was settled, she waited for him to hold out his arms, then settled the baby in them. "Support her head, okay? Babies can't hold their heads up."

For several long moments, Declan just stared at the baby as if in awe.

Clara blinked back up at him with her stunning blue eyes.

"Can she see me?" he asked.

"Babies can't focus their eyes," Lucy murmured, watching the siblings interact, "But they can see silhouettes, rough shapes. She knows you're a person, but can't tell what you look like."

"Will she remember me?"

Emily settled in the chair next to him. "She'll recognize your voice – the more you talk, the better she'll know you."

"Hello, Clara," he spoke to the baby. "I'm Declan – I'm your brother. It's really great to finally meet you."

Clara's little rosebud mouth opened and closed a few times, then she jammed her tiny thumb in her mouth and sucked on it.

Declan grinned. "She's cute," he said, meeting Emily's eyes, then Lucy's.

"She looks like you," Lucy said. She paused then, realizing what that meant, sadness washing over her face.

As if understanding her sudden sadness, Declan said, "I think she looks like Lucy. She's too pretty to look like me."

Emily laughed, ruffled Declan's hair.

* * *

Lucy was asleep when Derek showed up to meet the baby.

"How is she?" he asked with a nod towards the hospital room. He gently bounced the baby in his arms. He didn't need to elaborate for Emily to understand what he meant.

Emily glanced over her shoulder, watching Lucy's sleeping form. "She seems fine," she said slowly.

"But?" he prompted.

She sighed heavily. "I know she looks at the baby and part of her sees _him_. The way she froze when she said Clara looks like Declan – it was like she'd seen a ghost."

"Do you think she'll reject the baby?"

"Of course not – I can see how much she loves her, but I also know she's afraid to let herself fully embrace Clara as if that will mean that what happened to her is okay."

Clara started fussing then, squirming in Derek's arms. "I think someone's hungry," he cooed.

As if sensing the baby's needs, Lucy started stirring.

"Hello, beautiful," Derek greeted, entering the room and passing her the baby. "I've just been admiring your little angel, but I think she wants her Mama now."

Lucy smiled as she held the baby tight, but didn't comment until Clara had latched on to her breast. "Did Emily tell you about the birth?"

"Just that you handled it like a champ."

Lucy laughed. "Not as good as Em – she _caught_ the baby..."

"You what?" he asked incredulously, turning to Emily, brows high on his forehead.

Emily shrugged modestly. "She came so quickly that the nurses didn't have time to get there – three pushes and she was here."

He nodded, obviously impressed.

Emily just shook her head, smiling fondly. "Don't look at me – Lucy did all the hard work." Then, softer, "I've never felt so much love for another person..."

There was a knock on the door then, their counsellor entering the room. "Hello, new parents – I heard that the baby had arrived and I thought it best to check in."

With a quiet goodbye and a promise to visit soon, Morgan left the new family alone.

"Having the baby on the outside is a big transition," the counsellor started, "How do you feel it's going so far?"

Lucy and Emily shared a look. "Well, I think?" Lucy said. Emily nodded her agreement. Granted, the nurses were helping a fair bit, but it didn't seem monumentally scary or unmanageable which seemed like a good sign...

The therapist nodded. "Do you have any concerns for taking her home? I know it can be a daunting prospect to be the sole caregivers for a helpless infant for the first time..."

Lucy shrugged. "No? I mean, not really..."

Emily settled next to her on the bed, patted her knee in a silent gesture of support. "We took some new parent classes and we've looked after a friend's son, so I think we have the basics," she explained.

The therapist nodded again, scrawled something in her notepad. "And how's your support network?"

"Great," Lucy was quick to supply. "We've got more support than we know what to do with."

"And how many of them have experience with the challenges of new motherhood?"

"Just one," she amended quietly.

Emily added, "But most of them are profilers and are very understanding and knowledgeable about mental health issues."

The therapist rifled through her folder, then passed Lucy a pamphlet. "I'd encourage you to check out this new mom's support group." Then, a second pamphlet. "These are the signs of post-partum depression so you can be aware. And remember that there's no shame in asking for help – twenty-three percent of women will experience post-partum mental health issues."

Emily stroked Lucy's hair tenderly. "I'll be watching carefully," she confirmed.

"The non-birthing partner can get post-partum depression too," the therapist warned. "I know a lot of the focus will be on Lucy, but make sure you take time to check in with yourself too."

Clara, now finished eating, let out a little burp, making Emily giggle. "That's my little lady."


	33. Chapter 33

Over the baby monitor came Clara's distinctive wail. Emily glanced over at the clock: one AM, right on cue. It was only their second night at home, but the baby was already a proficient time teller.

Lucy rolled over, throwing the blankets off.

"Lie back down," Emily instructed before she could stand, "I'll get her."

Lucy yawned, waved off her instruction. "I've got it – she's hungry," she said blearily.

"You're exhausted, Lucy," Emily insisted, "You just gave birth..."

"She's hungry," Lucy repeated.

Emily stood. "I'll get her and bring her to you, just lay back and let me get the baby." A few moments later, she returned to the bedroom with Clara, her tiny body propped against her shoulder as she patted her back. "Someone's hungry," she murmured.

Lucy took the proffered baby, pulling up her tank top and positioning Clara at her breast. For a few moments, she let the baby suckle in silence before softly speaking, "I should switch to formula..."

Emily raised a brow, trying not to let too much surprise cross her face, considering how adamantly Lucy had insisted that she wanted to breastfeed. "What makes you say that?"

"It's not fair," she whispered. "She's your baby too. It's not fair for me to monopolize her care."

"You're not _monopolizing_ her – you're feeding her. That's not selfish, that's being a good mother," Emily assured her.

Lucy blinked back tears. "I don't know if I can do this, if I'm feeding her right, if she's getting enough... It was selfish of me to do this."

"No, Lucy, no," Emily insisted again. "You _can_ do this; you _are_ doing it. It's okay to feel doubt or fear or guilt. That's normal. But it doesn't meant that you're not a good mother."

Lucy stared down at the peacefully feeding baby, saying nothing.

"When I look at you, holding our daughter, feeding her, nurturing her, I feel so much love for you. So much pride. Because you are so incredible – you are her _mother_. And there is _no one_ in the world who could possibly love her any more than you. And there's absolutely _no one_ else I would want to raise a family with."

She sniffled quietly, biting her lip as she nodded.

"Look at our daughter," Emily prompted. "Look at the love in her eyes as she stares up at you: you are her whole world."

"Don't you want to share in that?" she asked softly.

"I get to share in it because I get to witness it. And there will be lots of moments in the future that her and I will share, just the two of us," she said. "I'm happy to wait for that time. Right now, she needs you."

"Really?" Lucy whispered.

"Absolutely," Emily vowed.

"So, why did you want to get her when she cried?"

Emily tenderly stroked her sleep-mussed hair. "You're _healing_ , Ella. The placenta leaves a wound the size of a _dinner plate_... You need to take it easy, okay? That means getting rest and letting me _help_ as much as possible."

"Are you saying you'll be changing all the diapers?" Lucy asked, a small smirk threatening to cross her lips.

Emily laughed, leaned in for a kiss. "There's that beautiful smile I love so much," she murmured against her lips.

Lucy grinned into the kiss. "No, really?" she said, referring to the diaper issue.

Nuzzling her nose, Emily said, "We'll see..."

For a moment, they both stared down into Clara's heavy lidded eyes. Emily ran a hand over the baby's mess of strawberry blonde hair, making her eyes flutter shut.

"Do you think..." Lucy started, faltered, "Do you think she looks like him?" She couldn't meet Emily's eyes, for fear of seeing something there she didn't want to see.

Emily tipped Lucy's chin up so she was forced to meet her gaze. " _No_ ," she vowed firmly. "I think she looks like her own beautiful person."

Then, she said the thing Emily never thought she'd ask, "Do you think I made a mistake?"

"Not for a single second. If I could, I'd thank the bastard because he gave me my daughter. I'd kill him, of course, for what he did to you...but I could never regret this little girl." She paused. "Do you think you made a mistake?"

"No," she murmured and she meant it. "I love her so much already and I wouldn't trade her for anything. But, _God_ , I'm so terrified. What if she hates me?"

"Why would she hate you?"

"Because of her father... Because one day she's going to find out who he was. Because I gave her that legacy, one that she'll be stuck with for the rest of her life," she explained.

Emily gently stroked the spot below Lucy's ear with her thumb. "One day, she _will_ have questions, that's inevitable, and when that day comes, we'll do out best to answer them...but so long as we spend every day of her life telling her how loved and wanted she is, she'll never doubt that where she came from has no influence over where she's going."

Clara had nodded off, a little dribble of milk rolling down her chin. Lucy wiped away the milk with a burp cloth. "Who do you think she'll grow up to be?"

"An incredible woman. One who knows she's so incredibly loved." Emily moved to lift the baby from her arms. "I'm going to put this little bug to bed. Then, I'm going to come back and cuddle my loving wife."

Kissing the baby's head, Lucy smiled at her wife. "You're incredible, Em..."

She raised a brow, curious.

"You never hesitated – you could have been repulsed by me, six months pregnant by a man who had tried to murder you...but you never blinked. Not once." She paused, breathless. "Why?"

"Because I love you. I loved you then and I love you now. And I love the little human that came out of you. You know that right?"

She nodded, smiled softly. "I love you too. You know _that_ , right?"

"I've never once doubted it."


	34. Chapter 34

Lucy padded into the kitchen, yawning. She wrapped her robe tighter around herself against the chill of the December morning, her thin tank top and flannel pants no match against the winter cold. Her hair was suitably dishevelled for having spent the night getting up with the baby and her rough attempt to finger-comb it hadn't helped.

"Morning, beautiful," Emily greeted, crossing the room to kiss her. "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, indeed," she said with a giggle as they broke the kiss. "And Merry first Christmas to you, little bug," she murmured, bending down to kiss the top of the baby's head where it peeked out from the baby wrap keeping her strapped to Emily's chest.

"Our first Christmas as a family of three," Emily murmured, almost reverently. "I can't think of a better gift than this little girl..."

Lucy laughed again. "Good because she didn't come with a return policy," she teased. She followed Emily back into the kitchen and took the mug of tea she offered her. "What were my two favourite girls doing while I slept in?"

"Examining the pile of presents," Emily informed her, nodding towards the veritable avalanche of presents spilling out from under the Christmas tree. "For a newborn, someone sure got spoiled by Santa..."

Glancing over at the pile of gifts under the tree, she had to admit there _were_ a lot. "To be fair," she pointed out, "Half of them _you_ picked out..."

"To be _fair_ ," she countered, "I didn't realize you were also picking out things..."

She shrugged as if the matter were outside of her hands. "I was nesting, what's your excuse?"

"I was excited about being a mom," she replied. "And everything they make for little girls is so damn adorable, it's impossible to resist."

Lucy raised a brow, stared at her over the rim of her mug. "You were with Garcia, weren't you?"

"Maybe," she admitted, perhaps a little guiltily. "This little girl is going to be so spoiled, isn't she?"

Lucy shrugged again. "She's not even a month old, I don't think she'll remember one over-zealous Christmas..."

Emily laughed. "You think it's just going to be _one_? Have you met Garcia?"

"Touche."

"We've got our work cut out for us, keeping her head out of the clouds, I think." She settled on the couch, untangling the baby from the wrap and passing her to Lucy to feed.

"What do you think, Clara?" Lucy asked the baby. "Are you going to be level-headed like Mommy? Or are you going to be a starry-eyed dreamer like me?"

* * *

Emily and Lucy lay curled up on the couch, limbs tangled together, well and truly worn out by the excitement of Christmas morning...and life with a newborn. Clara lay in her nearby bassinet, sleeping while her parents watched the movie.

It was sort of a tradition (a rather new one, albeit, considering the movie was a fairly recent release) for the two of them to watch _The Nutcracker and the Four Realms_ on Christmas Day and snuggle – though, admittedly, the snuggling usually took a more risque turn and they missed large parts of the movie. But this year, they were both too tired and had yet to receive the doctor's approval to return to sexual activities, so they contented themselves with just watching.

Emily kissed the back of Lucy's shoulder. "Why do you like this movie so much? It's nothing like the ballet..."

She shrugged. "This Clara is everything I want our Clara to grow up to be: brave and smart and kind, with just a hint of wonder in her eyes."

"You mean, the way she looks at you?"

"Hmm?"

Emily hooked her chin on Lucy's shoulder. "Whenever she looks at you, there's this incredible look of wonderment in her eyes, like you hung the moon and stars just for her."

"That's just because I'm her cafeteria," she said with another shrug, her shoulder bumping Emily's chin.

She laughed, taking care to keep the sound soft enough not to wake the baby. "Then how do you explain why I look at you the same way?"

Grinning foolishly, even though Emily couldn't see it, Lucy murmured, "To be fair, you're rather fond of my breasts as well."

"Touche." She nuzzled into Lucy's neck where she was slightly ticklish, inhaling the residual scent of breastmilk and the brown sugar and fig body lotion she used. "And as much as I love watching you feed and nurture our daughter, I can't wait for the day I have them all to myself again."

Lucy snorted with laughter. "You're _incorrigible_... Maybe try keeping it in your pants until the six weeks are up before you let your imagination go wild."

"It's hard," she said with a playful pout. "You've never been sexier, with your new curves and your new mom glow," she purred.

Biting her lip to keep from grinning, Lucy husked, "Well, if you're so eager, there are _things_ I can do to help you..." She let the promise of mischief hang in the air, waiting to see whether Emily would accept the offer.

"That's okay," she insisted, "As tempting as the offer is – and believe me, it's _tempting –_ I'm in no rush, I was just teasing. Except that I _do_ find you very sexy."

Turning her head to capture her lips, Lucy agreed, "Right back atcha."

Clara cooed in her sleep, drawing their attention.

"So," Emily whispered, "Do you think you'd ever want to do this again?"

"Have another baby?"

"Yeah," she said with a shrug. "Do it right this time?"

Lucy stared down at the beautiful little baby. "You want more kids?"

"I want to be a family with you, whatever that looks like...even if that's just the three of us," Emily vowed.

"You're an angel, you know that?" she said reverently. "Everyday, I can't believe I'm lucky enough to call you my wife and the mother of my children. All of them. Present and future."

"Merry Christmas, Lucy," she said, stealing another kiss.


	35. Chapter 35

"Hello, pretty girl," Emily cooed to her daughter as she fastened the tabs on the diaper. She tickled the baby's tummy. "Look at your cute little belly." She brought the baby's feet up to kiss the soles. "And your cute little toes."

Clara blew a raspberry in response.

Fastening the onesie (a gift from Garcia, featuring a Christmas light pattern and the words _'Out like a light'_ ), Emily lifted the baby and cradled her in her arms. "Well, if we're being specific, I happen to think _all_ of you is cute. I may be biased, though."

She settled in the rocking chair with the baby to soothe her back to sleep. Every night at one AM, she would wake up, hungry. Then, without fail, fifteen minutes after she finished eating, she'd need her diaper changed. Emily loved those quiet moments, just her and her daughter, as she lulled her back to sleep.

Light from the moon filtered in the gauzy curtains, casting a pale glow on the soft lines of the baby's face. With a gentle finger, she traced Clara's features, in awe. In reverence. "I can't believe someone I love created something so beautiful."

Clara blinked up at her as if memorizing her face, as if listening to the sound of her voice. Reid had assured her that babies could recognize voices they heard while in the womb, but it was still a little breathtaking to realize it was true.

"You are so incredible," she whispered. "So amazing. I can't believe I'm your mother."

Clara sneezed, then looked surprised.

Giggling, she said, "Bless you! Even your sneezes are adorable!" She lifted the baby up to kiss her forehead. " _God_ , I can't believe how much I love you – and just when I think I can't love you any more, I do..."

Leaning back in the rocking chair, eyes still fixed on the child's slowly closing eyes, she sighed contentedly, tender smile on her lips. For all the heartbreak it had taken to get to that moment, she had never felt so at peace with the world as she did in that very moment.

"And you know what? That's how I feel about your Mama too," she informed the baby, almost conspiratorially. "She makes life worth living."

Behind her, Lucy silently padded into the nursery. Tenderly, she brushed the hair away from Emily's neck and kissed her where her neck met her shoulder. "Come to bed, Em...the baby's asleep."

Sure enough, Clara's eyes had drifted shut, her chest slowly rising and falling with her sleeping breaths.

"How long have you been standing there?" she asked in a whisper.

"Long enough," she replied, fingers gently tickling the back of her neck. "And you should know that you're my whole world too."

Emily turned her head to capture her lips, smiling into the kiss. "You should be sleeping..."

"I missed my toe warmer," she said, grinning mischievously.

Rolling her eyes, Emily scolded, "I keep telling you to wear socks to bed, Miss Popsicle Toes."

Laughing quietly, she husked, "Come to bed." She lifted Clara from her arms, set her in the crib, then reached for Emily's hand, tugging her to stand and spinning her around like they were dancing.

Together, they slow danced in the centre of the nursery, Emily's arms draped around Lucy's neck. Resting her forehead against Emily's, Lucy said, "It's after midnight... Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year," she echoed. "Welcome to our first year as parents."

"To an incredible first year," she agreed, "And now, to bed."

* * *

Emily settled down in bed and was surprised when Lucy moved to straddle her hips. "What are you doing?" she asked, brow raised, smile on her lips.

Lucy combed her hair back from her face, biting down on her lip in a way that Emily found incredibly sexy. "Tell me your resolutions," she said in a non-answer, then leaned down to kiss her throat.

"My resolutions?" she repeated, a little breathlessly as Lucy's lips wandered.

"Mm-hmm," she hummed against her skin.

Laughing huskily, she indulged her request, "Okay...I guess I want to be the best mother I can be."

Slipping her hand under Emily's shirt, her fingers grazed her stomach, the undersides of her breasts. "Go on," she murmured.

"Do my job, but still make time for family," she said on a shaky exhale.

Lucy's wandering fingers found her nipple then, pinching and teasing the sensitive bud. "What else?"

"B-be a good wife?" she stammered, back arching into the contact, mind struggling to keep up with the conversation while Lucy's hands meandered.

Her laughter vibrated against Emily's clavicle. "A good wife?" she repeated, teasing. She grazed her teeth alone the sensitive skin.

"The best," she echoed. Her hands found Lucy's hips, gripping them tightly, fingertips sure to leave bruises.

Lucy's fingers tangled with Emily's, moving her hands to rest beside her head as her lips travelled down Emily's torso to kiss just below her belly button. "Anything else?"

Raking her teeth along her bottom lip, mind stalling, Emily rasped, "Umm..."

Hooking her fingers in the waistband of her panties, Lucy's mouth travelled down, until Emily halted her.

"What are you doing, Ella?"

Sitting up, Lucy cocked her head to the side, smiling fondly. "They say you're supposed to spend New Year's doing what you want to do more of in the next year..."

Arching a brow, she said, "And your goal is?"

"Loving my wife." She bent down to steal a kiss.

Smiling softly, Emily whispered, "I love you too – but I'm _exhausted_ , so c'mere and cuddle me and let's go to sleep."

"Since when are you too tired to get eaten out?" she teased.

"Since we got a newborn..."

Collapsing next to her, stoking Emily's hair behind her ear, Lucy giggled. "I'll take a raincheck," she agreed. "But it's a good thing we have a surplus of babysitters because I have plans that will take all night..."

"I have a feeling it will be quite awhile before you're able to leave Clara for a whole night," Emily pointed out.

She raised a brow. "Like you don't have separation anxiety?" she countered.

Laughing, she agreed, "Oh, I absolutely do. But I think it's warranted...she's only going to be this little for a short time and I don't want to miss a single moment of it."


End file.
